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COPYRIGHT DEPOSSk 



SHORT RATIONS 




A German Mother, Who Has Given Her Seven Sons to the War. 
She and Her Three Grandchildren Were Trying to Live on 
Potatoes-all They Had. 



SHORT RATIONS 

AN AMERICAN WOMAN IN 
GERM4NY, 1915 . . . 1916 



BY 

MADELEINE ZABRISKIE DOTY 

AUTHOR OF "SOCIETY'S MISFITS" 



ILLUSTRATED WITH 
PHOTOGRAPHS 




NEW YORK 
THE CENTURY CO. 

1917 



Copyright, 1917, by 
The Century Co. 



Published, March, 1917 



MAR 14 1917 



©CI.A455887 






TO 
MY FATHER 

WHO NEVER HELD ME BACK 
BUT EVER ENCOURAGED 
ME IN MY ADVENTURES 



PREFACE 

This book is a journal of my experiences in 
warring Europe. I have tried to set down sim- 
ply and honestly what I saw. It is the story of 
what happens at home when men go to war. It 
has been difficult to find a title that would cover 
such a range. But everywhere I traveled one 
fact obtruded itself. When the battle rages all 
forces are concentrated on destroying; man has 
no time to create. The doctrine of social wel- 
fare is temporarily extinguished. No thought 
can be given to the hungry, to the convict, to 
social evils, to education, to understanding the 
heart of a child. 

These divine causes are pushed aside. The 
country goes spiritually, as well as materially, 
bankrupt. There is a shortage all along the 
line. It is in this sense that I use the title 
" Short Rations." 

While the men at the front slaughter one an- 
other, at home the mothers and children, the 
sick, the aged, the prisoners, are starved spirit- 
ually, intellectually, and physically. Life be- 

xi 



xii PREFACE 

comes a fight for existence, a struggle for one's 
self and not for humanity. 

Through infinite suffering man has broken 
away from the old ideal which was " Concentrate 
on self and be a great person." He has come to 
see that a truer and finer ideal is " Forget self 
and give to humanity." Nations must learn this 
truth also ; not my country first, what can it grab, 
but what can it give. When that idealism is ac- 
cepted, wars will cease. " Love thy neighbor as 
thyself." It is an old doctrine, new only when 
applied by one nation to another. 

And to that nation which has sinned most, as 
to the greatest criminal, must we most freely 
open our hearts. In each case the need is great ; 
in neither case will punishment avail. Punish- 
ment fills both man and nation with hate and 
vengeance. But love remakes the world. Re- 
generation comes from within. Let our new 
faith be : "I dedicate myself, my home, and my 
country to every other nation ; my life, my love, 
my liberty will I share." 



CONTENTS 

PART I. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Crossing the ocean in war time . 3 

II. At the Hague 14 

III. Under the lid in war-cursed Berlin 26 

IV. London and the Suffragettes . . 42 
V. Nursing the wounded in Paris . . 53 

VI. Little Brother 68 

PART II. 

I. The Scandinavian Countries . . 83 

II. Hamburg under the hand of death 100 

III. Life in Berlin 118 

IV. The food riots and the potato line 136 
V. Signs of unrest and rebellion . . 152 

VI. A TOUR FOR JOURNALISTS PRISON 

CAMPS AND HOSPITALS .... 169 

VII. Women factory workers . ... 190 

VIII. Peace meetings in Munich . . . 207 

IX. The escape from Germany . . . 228 
x. a flying trip through france and 

England 245 

XI. Die Mutter 265 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

A German mother who has given her seven sons to the war 

— Frontispiece ~ 

The Badge of Hate 2* 

The American Ambulance at Neuilly 21"' 

In 1915 one piece of bread was served in the restaurants 

in a paper envelope 28" 

A facsimile of a bread card used in 1916 .... 29 

Map of the author's two trips 36 

Zeni Peshkoff, adopted son of Maxim Gorki, who lost bis 

right arm 59 

A wounded French soldier and his mother .... 59 
A facsimile of the safe conduct given the author to the 

battlefield of the Marne 66" 

Facsimile of the author's passport with the German, 

French and British stamps 84" 

The Bismarck Denkmal 105^ 

German prisoners today plainly show signs of under feeding 125*' 
A facsimile of the handbill circulated in Berlin the evening 

the Deutschland reached Bremen for the first time . 160 ; 
The prison camp at Heidelberg for French, English and 

Russian officers 179' 

The sitting room in the prison camp, Heidelberg . . . 179 ' 
A facsimile of the luncheon menu card at the Hotel Mar- 

quardt, Stuttgart 193' 

Women factory workers » r . . . 213 ' 

Die Mutter f. tM. '.. . . 269 



SHORT RATIONS 
PART I 




THE BADGE OF HATE 
A facsimile of a stamp used 
in the beginning of the war to 
stick on letters and packages. 
It was later prohibited. 



F 



SHORT RATIONS 

CHAPTER I 

CROSSING THE OCEAN IN WAR TIME 

OR eight months the war had raged. We in 
America found it hard to visualize. Only 
the people from Europe with their tales of blood- 
shed made it a reality. Women from all the bel- 
ligerent countries came to us. They implored 
America to bring back peace on earth and save 
their men. It was this cry stirred American 
women. A little group headed by Jane Addams 
resolved to hold a woman's international con- 
ference. The meeting place was to be The 
Hague. The women knew they couldn't stop 
the war, but they decided to register a protest 
against the slaughter of man and lay plans for 
a future permanent peace. 

To cross the ocean in war time is an undertak- 
ing. An ocean filled with battle-ships presents 

3 



SHORT RATIONS 

unknown dangers, but forty-three American 
women embarked on the adventure. 

The "Evening Post" asked me to go as its 
correspondent. I at once accepted. In five 
days I packed my bags, adjusted my affairs, and 
was on board the steamship Noordam. 

It was a warm spring day when our boat pulled 
from dock. A white flag bearing in letters of 
blue the word " Peace " floated from our mast- 
head. This made our ship the center of all eyes. 
Soon we had passed the Battery and the city 
grew dim in the distance. At the harbor en- 
trance were two American torpedo boats. It 
was the first intimation of war. We fell to talk- 
ing of submarines and the dangers ahead. 

A passing ship bound for New York from Rot- 
terdam saluted. Our little white flag fluttered 
gaily, in answer. Our hearts thrilled at the 
sight. We realized we had set forth on a mis- 
sion. Of the sixty-two first cabin passengers 
forty-four were women delegates to The Hague. 
It was a goodly company assembled from many 
States — Oregon, California, Wisconsin, Iowa, 
Illinois, Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, New Jer- 
sey, Washington, D. C, and New York. Though 
many had n't previously met, we were soon bound 

4 



CROSSING THE OCEAN IN WAR TIME 

together by a common cause. Outside there was 
a gray sky and calm sea. Inside there was equal 
peace and calm. 

Each morning we assembled to discuss history 
and diplomacy, while the evenings were devoted 
to personal reminiscences. Like the Canterbury 
Pilgrims of old, each told his tale. Bit by bit 
through the Pilgrims' tales personalities grew 
distinct. The two most striking were Jane Ad- 
dams and Mrs. Pethick Lawrence. They were 
totally unlike, but by very contrast vivified each 
other. One evening they had a debate, — " Is 
war ever justifiable? " was the subject. Miss 
Addams took the negative. Gentle, modest, clad 
in a dark silk dress, the light of her spirit shining 
in her tragic eyes, she seemed hardly of the earth. 
She pleaded for the sacredness of life and the 
policy of non-resistance. To turn from her to 
Mrs. Lawrence was to turn to a burning flame. 
The Englishwoman in her Oriental dress of red 
and green was all passion and fire. Every ges- 
ture had meaning. Spirit and body were one. 
She wanted to fight for peace ; would go singing 
to death to rid the world of war. Both women 
were inspired by the same ideal. But one looked 
at life as a saint; the other faced reality. One 

5 



SHORT RATIONS 

preached non-resistance; the other active resist- 
ance to war, believing that peace and liberty were 
dearer than life. 

Other members of the company were also dis- 
tinctive. The little telephone operator until the 
night of her story remained undiscovered. Then 
her fresh, vital personality burst upon us. Three 
years ago w T ith a handful of girls she had organ- 
ized a union, which now numbers ten thousand. 
In the early days the union won a fight for bet- 
ter conditions by arbitration. Out of that suc- 
cess sprang the powerful organization of to-day. 
If they could arbitrate, the telephone girls rea- 
soned, Europe ought also to be able to arbitrate, 
so they sent forth their cherished leader. She, 
they felt, might bring peace to earth. Each mem- 
ber taxed herself with sixty cents monthly to pay 
for the trip, and the little telephone operator 
set gaily forth. She had never traveled before. 
Each moment on the ocean was a revelation. 
She was always discovering new wonders. Then 
there was a poetess who had written a poem called 
" Motherhood " which had been published and 
widely circulated by the Carnegie Peace Founda- 
tion. There was a woman doctor, who told us 
of the diseases that follow in the wake of war. 

6 



CROSSING THE OCEAN IN WAR TIME 

There were three women lawyers, a Quaker 
preacher, numerous social workers, and several 
writers. 

Besides our little company, there were seven- 
teen other passengers, among them a small Ger- 
man girl of nineteen. She was a problem. 
Pretty, frivolous, high-heeled and flirtatious, she 
was on her way to her lover, a young German of- 
ficer. We held lengthy consultations over her 
case. We had all seen " War Brides." This 
child must be made to realize that woman must 
not propagate unless man promises there shall be 
no more war. 

Unfortunately most of us were spinsters. Our 
passionate plea for motherhood didn't have a 
proper setting. W r e did n't make a dent in this 
young female of the species. We searched for a 
copy of " War Brides," in vain. But had we 
found it she would not have read it. She flirted 
with every man on board and steered her course 
among us all. 

The days glided swiftly by, calm and unevent- 
ful. Life on shipboard became a habit. We 
seemed to have been always journeying forth. 

But on the eighth day we reached the danger 
zone. At night our ship was brightly lighted. 

7 



SHORT RATIONS 

On each side of the boat in large letters of elec- 
tricity was the ship's name. The eighth night 
was one of suspense and excitement. Some hud- 
dled together and talked far into the night, but 
Miss Addams went serenely to bed. My room- 
mate got down the life preservers — she wished 
she could foresee events, for if we were to be 
blown up, she wanted to dress for the part. In 
the end she wore her best underclothing and silk 
stockings to bed. Morning came and we slowly 
crept toward the coast. It was a gray day and 
we saw the land indistinctly. Small sailing ves- 
sels were about us and seagulls hovered over- 
head. Once we slowed down and steered out of 
our course. Two small boats ahead of us with a 
net between them were dragging the sea for 
mines. On the top deck, the life-boats had been 
stripped of canvas and put in readiness and the 
deck rails removed. 

That night at dinner Miss Addams suggested 
an evening of entertainment to divert us. To- 
ward the close of the program the boat suddenly 
stopped. The audience grew restless. There 
was a shrill whistle and sound of running feet. 
We rushed for the deck. The red and white 
light of a small boat appeared at the ship's side. 



CROSSING THE OCEAN IN WAR TIME 

She made fast to our steamer. Three English 
officers climbed the rope ladder and rushed to the 
captain's room. 

All was commotion and excitement. We ran 
from one side of the steamer to the other. No 
one knew what was happening. We gazed at 
the little boat. The men on board her hurried 
madly about. They pulled out a box. In it was 
ammunition. Then a small cannon was uncov- 
ered, and directed toward us. It was quickly 
loaded and the men stood ready, ammunition in 
hand. Now two other small boats appeared. 
They also came close to the steamer and remained 
alongside. We were being surrounded. Just as 
suspense grew intolerable, the officers who 
boarded us came from the bridge. They were 
leading two captives. Around each was tied a 
rope. Then we knew what had happened. Two 
German stowaways had been caught and taken 
prisoners. As the captives descended the rope 
ladder, one of them raised his cap high above his 
head and shouted, " Hoch der Kaiser ! Vater- 
land fiber alles ! " We leaned over the ship's rail 
in the flickering light. We saw the prisoners on 
the deck of the small boat below. Their hands 
were held high above their heads, while the Eng- 

9 



SHORT RATIONS 

lish soldiers searched them. The captors evi- 
dently admired the bravery of their captives. 
They treated them considerately. 

Next morning we were steaming up the Eng- 
lish Channel, and at eight were opposite Dover. 
Here we anchored and were boarded for inspec- 
tion. Only the men's passports were examined. 
All day our boat was at a standstill and we 
sat or walked idly about the decks. Torpedo 
boats moved to and fro. A few steamers were 
seen at anchor. One, a South American steamer, 
was only a few rods away. We exchanged 
greeting with the passengers. Late in the after- 
noon we crowded on deck to see a round black 
speck in the air. It moved toward the French 
coast. As it came nearer we saw it was an air- 
ship. It looked like a wicked submarine which 
had taken to flight. Presently it retook its 
course to the English coast. 

Next morning we were still at anchor. We 
grew restless. It dawned on us we might be 
here for days. We gradually realized we must 
protest, if we would move. We sought out the 
captain. He was noncommittal. We asked for 
permission to send messages ashore. He doubted 
if it could be managed. We were veritable pris- 

10 



CROSSING THE OCEAN IN WAR TIME 

oners. But in the afternoon the English boat 
again came to us. We lay siege to the British 
officer. We wrote out a telegram to our Ameri- 
can ambassador at London, imploring his aid. 
The English officer agreed to send it. Now came 
hours of weary waiting. Our unity and enthu- 
siasm vanished. The ship was the same, the peo- 
ple the same, but we were thwarted in our pur- 
pose. Making us prisoners made us ugly. 
Dissensions grew in our midst. The conserva- 
tives did not wish to be hasty, they would fold 
hands and patiently trust to the authorities, but 
the rebel spirits were not to be quelled. Nothing 
was ever gained save through struggle. They 
brought pressure to bear on the captain and sent 
surreptitious messages ashore by friendly sail- 
boats. The days dragged on, Saturday, Sunday, 
Monday. All sorts of rumors were afloat. One 
was that a battle was raging in the North Sea; 
another that the trouble lay with our cargo — 
that we were women sitting on a load of am- 
munition! A third that England was holding 
us up because we were a band of women with 
peaceful intentions. 

We secured a newspaper from a passing sail- 
boat. We found that England had stopped all 

11 



SHOET RATIONS 

channel steamers. The delegation of women 
from England was not to be allowed to cross to 
The Hague. The papers ridiculed the women; 
they call them " peacettes " bound for a tea party 
at The Hague. But, as usual, opposition only 
strengthened the cause. We grew fearless and 
united. With Miss Addams's cooperation, we 
besieged the captain and sent innumerable tele- 
grams. At length our distress calls were an- 
swered. A British boat dashed up. It bore a 
message from the American ambassador. We 
gathered in an expectant circle, but our faces 
grew tragic as Miss Addams read : " The British 
authorities have completely suspended traffic 
with Holland for the present. No ships are leav- 
ing for Dutch ports. I greatly regret it is be- 
yond my power to aid you in the matter. Even 
American diplomatic officers may not pass." 

We were foiled. It was Monday, and Tuesday 
the conference was to begin. But just as the 
rebel spirits were on the eve of a revolution we 
heard a shrill whistle. Another little tug dashed 
to our ship's side. An officer boarded our boat. 
A few seconds later a steward rushed from the 
bridge. " We are off ! " he cried ; " the clearance 
papers have come." A little cheer goes up from 

12 



CROSSING THE OCEAN IN WAR TIME 

our midst. We dance about the deck. We played 
tag and ran three-legged races to let off steam. 
Of course we attributed our good fortune to the 
American ambassador, in spite of his telegram. 
But again there was delay. Our steamer 
whistled vainly for a pilot. There was none to be 
had. Our captain was given a map of the mine- 
strewn North Sea. He was told he might pro- 
ceed, but at his own risk. He decided to wait 
until morning. Many of us were up early. The 
mines loomed large. Our eyes swept the horizon 
for warships and submarines, but our ship moved 
quietly forward without adventure. Toward 
noon we sighted the Hook of Holland. Soon we 
were steaming up the long waterway. It was a 
warm spring day. The land was gay with tulips. 
The flat green meadows stretched out peacefully 
in the golden sunlight. Here there was no sign 
of war. Our dangers were passed. Our first 
battle had been won. 



CHAPTEK II 

AT THE HAGUE 

IT was six p.m. when we left our boat. For sev- 
eral hours she had been steaming up the nar- 
row waterway to Botterdam, while the peace and 
quiet of Holland descended upon us. On pass- 
ing barges Dutch families gazed at us wonder- 
ingly. The man of the family, pipe in mouth, 
sprawled on deck, and the kiddies dangled their 
feet in the water. The song of birds filled the 
air and buds were bursting on every tree. The 
sky was the softest blue. New York, with its 
bustle and roar, seemed nearer war than this 
lazy land of fresh spring sweetness. 

But we had no time for loitering. We dashed 
from the ship to the railroad station. There was 
just two hours before the conference at eight. 

When we reached The Hague we found wild 
confusion. That city was full of Belgian refu- 
gees. There were few vacancies at hotels. At 
every street corner one encountered cabs filled 
with women delegates madly driving from one 

14 



AT THE HAGUE 

hotel to another. Eventually we all found shel- 
ter, but there was no time for dinner. We set 
off immediately for the great meeting hall. 
When we arrived an important looking official 
waved us sternly back. We had n't stopped for 
tickets. But we stood our ground and shouted 
to a Dutch woman beyond the entrance, " We are 
the Americans." 

Instantly she was upon us. " Oh," she cried, 
as she grasped our hands, " I 'm so glad you 're 
alive and not blown up, or at the bottom of the 
sea. We didn't know what had happened." 
Then she led us triumphantly inside. 

It was a gay, if hungry, American delegation 
that burst upon the meeting. As Jane Addams 
mounted the platform and the audience realized 
we had come, they broke into tumultuous ap- 
plause. The place was crowded. People stood 
everywhere. Seventeen women sat on the plat- 
form, representing many different nations. The 
opening address was made by a Hollander, and 
the first speech delivered by a German. 

From the beginning the object of the congress 
was made plain. It was not to stop war, but to 
protest against war and to lay plans for future 
peace. For the first time in history, a band of 

15 



SHORT RATIONS 

women from belligerent and neutral nations had 
organized. They had risen above war's hatred 
and grasped hands, as women and mothers. 

We went back that night to our scattered 
dwellings full of fine courage. The moon shone 
down upon us. The canals shimmered in the 
moonlight. The Hague seemed a haven of rest 
and strength. But next morning we saw a sight 
that made war a reality. On the green plain in 
front of the assembly hall thousands of young 
men were being drilled. All Holland was mobil- 
izing. While a thousand women in a big hall 
were discussing ways to save life, across the 
street thousands of men were learning how to 
take life. 

It was a mixed company who attended the con- 
ference. The diversity was not in ideas, but in 
careers and temperaments. There were rich 
and poor, the cold reserved people of the North, 
and the fiery passionate people of the South. 
There were women lawyers and women dress- 
makers, artists and stenographers, reformers and 
journalists, and many just plain mothers. These 
women had come together in spite of difficulties 
over mine-strewn seas and past frontier searches. 

Perhaps the Belgian delegates made the most 
16 



AT THE HAGUE 

dramatic group. Their path had bristled with 
difficulties. They had had to get passports from 
the enemy. The first German appealed to was 
obdurate, but an official higher up was sought. 
The sturdy, determined, and energetic Made- 
moiselle Hammer would not be denied. "We 
wish to attend a women's congress. It is im- 
portant ; you must let us pass," is what she said. 
Her courage won the day. But the difficulties 
were not over. The Belgian train service was 
inadequate. The first of the journey had to be 
made in a borrowed automobile. After a while 
this was stopped, then the women descended 
and marched for two hours with heavy suitcases. 
Finally the frontier was reached. Then came a 
search. At last after weary hours of waiting 
and travel the Belgians arrived triumphant. 
The word that they were in the hall spread like 
wild fire. They were invited to the platform. 
Up they went to fill the vacant chairs next to the 
German delegation. The house rose in excite- 
ment. Then it broke into frantic applause. 
Handkerchiefs and hats were waved madly and 
the air was filled with cries of " Bravo." For in 
spite of our diversity, one bond held all together 
— the belief in the sacredness of life. 

17 



SHORT RATIONS 

Under the inspiration of a great ideal, under 
Miss Addams's gentle and wise guidance, under 
the soft beauty of Holland, our differing per- 
sonalities and nationalities intermingled. Each 
morning we worked together ; each afternoon we 
talked and walked and played together and each 
evening we heard one another speak. 

And every day incidents occurred which were 
pregnant with meaning. On one occasion Mr. 
and Mrs. Pethick Lawrence of England invited 
Dr. Augsburg and Friiulein Heyman of Germany 
to dine. A gasp went 'round the dining-room 
as this little group entered. I w T as one of the 
party and heard what was said. " We ought, of 
course, to get out of Belgium," said the Germans, 
"but then when you judge us, remember that 
England is in many places she ought not to be." 

"Yes," said the Englishman and woman, 
"there is, for instance, the Rock of Gibraltar. 
We have no right there. Some day that rock 
must go back to its rightful owners." For hours 
those amazing people talked in great friendli- 
ness. They readjusted the world. They did it 
on the basis of justice, instead of diplomacy. 
At the close of the evening the Englishman es- 
corted the German ladies to their car and gaily 



AT THE HAGUE 

waved his liat in farewell. Such examples had 
their effect. Soon each was trying to outdo the 
other in tolerance. 

This did not mean a lack of sympathy for the 
Allies — on the contrary. For instance, Hol- 
land's position was thus stated by a little Dutch 
woman : " When the war broke out, our hearts 
were with Germany. We have German blood in 
our veins. The Queen's husband is a German, 
and the mouth of the Ehine lies in our land. 
But after a while a change came. Belgian 
refugees poured into our land. My town of six 
thousand inhabitants had four hundred to care 
for. I had five of them in my house. They 
told tales. We came to dread German autoc- 
racy and militarism. We are a free people. 
We believe in democracy. Before the war three 
hundred thousand men and women signed a 
petition for woman suffrage. That 's a big num- 
ber for this little land. Gradually the Queen's 
attitude has changed in spite of her German 
husband. Her ministers have made her fear 
Germany. If Holland went to war to-day it 
would be with the Allies. We would rather risk 
English domination than endure German mili- 
tarism." So spoke this gray-haired, middle-aged 

19, 



. SHORT RATIONS 

Dutchwoman. Then she added, gazing dreamily 
at her peaceful land : " Of course, if trouble 
came, we could open our dikes. But we don't 
w T ant war. Recently there was a call for a 
hundred thousand additional volunteers. Only 
ninety men from the big city of Amsterdam re- 
sponded. No — Holland does n't want war." 

Such personal talks were as illuminating as 
the congress, and as the days glided by we grew 
ever closer together. The beauty of Holland 
made us mellow. Overhead the sky was always 
blue ; gay tulips filled the land with color ; the air 
was fragrant with the scent of flowers. Outer 
dissimilarities merged in the universal. The 
ties of love, motherhood, and future welfare 
held. 

Only once was the note of nationalism struck 
as against internationalism. The program from 
the beginning had centered on plans for future 
peace. All had agreed that small nations must 
be insured their integrity, that there must be 
freedom of the seas, that trade must be free to 
all, that future disputes must be settled by some 
kind of international cooperation and agreement. 
On these matters there was perfect accord — 
accord in spite of difference in language, for 

20 



■ '■ 



1 




' : ? 



I ' '" * *" 




THE AMERICAN AMBULANCE AT NEUILLY 
The Author Is the Nurse in the Rear 



AT THE HAGUE 

every speech had to be put into three tongues — 
French, English, and German. It was not until 
the war itself was discussed that there came a 
rift. That the war should be discussed was in- 
evitable. Day by day, as we sat side by side, we 
had learned of the suffering in war-ridden lands. 
Black-clad wives had made speeches. Sorrowing 
mothers had shown their agony. The battle-field 
became a reality, covered with dead and dying 
sons and husbands. These glimpses of tragedy 
wrung our hearts. We ceased to be enemies 
or friends. We were just women. All precon- 
ceived plans vanished. There grew an urgent 
need to do something. It was then the following 
motion was presented : " Be it resolved that this 
congress urge the governments of the world to 
put an end to bloodshed and begin negotiations 
for peace.." On the instant came that note of 
nationalism. The Belgian delegation rose to its 
feet. W T hat did peace mean? Surely not that 
the Belgians would be a subject race. Out from 
their tortured hearts came the cry, " Je suis Beige 
avant tout" Sympathy throbbed in our hearts. 
Eagerly we explained. A peace founded on jus- 
tice was our dream. " Would we," they asked, 
" insert the word just before ' peace '? " Gladly 

23 



SHOET RATIONS 

the suggestion was accepted. Both England and 
Germany voted for the amendment. 

Such were the women who made up the con- 
gress. Such were the things they said. But as 
the days came for departure, a restlessness grew 
visible. The suffering of war had laid its hold 
on the delegates. They wanted something more 
than mere resolutions — they wanted immediate 
action. To go quietly home had become im- 
possible. Then a member rose to her feet. 
" We can't stop here," she begged. " We have 
demonstrated our solidarity, but there is some- 
thing greater. We must demonstrate that moral 
courage is greater than physical. We must have 
courage to call for the end of war now. Courage 
to think of no one but the dying men on the bat- 
tle-field, who turn their glazed eyes to us seeking 
help. Courage to say not one more shall be 
killed. Courage to say we can't wait — we must 
have peace now. Courage to carry this demand 
personally from nation to nation." This was 
her plea. Sobs broke from grief-stricken moth- 
ers. Tears streamed down faces. Women were 
stirred past utterance. No vote was needed to 
carry this motion. The audience rose as one. 

So ended the congress, but these meetings were 
24 



AT THE HAGUE 

but the preliminary steps. In a few days Jane 
Addams with two other women started on her 
pilgrimage. She was to bear the women's mes- 
sage from nation to nation. 

What effect this meeting of women will have, 
who can tell? Idealistic, impractical, it may 
have been, but little it was not. While war 
rages, force reigns on earth and we forget it is 
ideas that made that force possible. But ideas 
can also create good-will. No thought sent out 
into the world dies. The future lies in our 
hands. It is for us to mold it. 



25 



CHAPTER III 

UNDER THE LID IN WAR-CURSED BERLIN 

June, 1915. 
^ON'T go," said the American embassy at 
The Hague. " Americans are not wanted. 
You may get into trouble." 

I packed my bag with beating heart. Go I 
would — for why live unless adventure? But I 
spoke no German. How could it be managed? 
My head was full of tales of hardship and im- 
prisonment. The Lusitania had just been sunk. 
I had never been to Germany. Berlin was a 
strange city. 

I pinned my little American flag and my Hague 
Peace Congress badge on the lapel of my coat. 
My passport I tucked in my pocket. With a 
small hand-bag and no printed or written word 
I started forth. 

Fortunately a Hungarian newspaperwoman 
whom I had met, traveled by the same train. 
We were an ill-assorted pair — she, petite and 

26 



WAR-CURSED BERLIN 

feminine and full of gay, light humor ; I, serious, 
clad in business clothes with many capacious 
pockets. " Mon maH" she called me. "Ma 
femme " proved a very useful person. She spoke 
five languages. Born in Russia with French an- 
cestors, living in Paris, and married to a Hun- 
garian, her heart was with the Allies. Life in 
Budapest was difficult. She dreaded return. 
But her glib German tongue and Hungarian 
marriage made her persona grata in Germany. 

Her flirtation with the passport officials at the 
frontier let us through with smiles and an invi- 
tation to wait over a train. 

Before the border was reached, I had hidden 
my American flag. It was not wise to speak 
English. This made me very helpless. I per- 
suaded my companion to stop off with me in 
Berlin. 

It was a long, tedious dav's journey. The 
German pasture lands were empty — no people, 
men or women, anywhere, and no cattle. But it 
was Sunday. Perhaps that was the reason. 

When we had secured rooms at a hotel we 
started forth to see the city. A passing throng 
filled the Friedrichstrasse, but half were sol- 
diers. Every fifth person was in mourning or 

27 



SHORT RATIONS 

wore a black band upon the sleeve. The faces 
in the electric light looked pale and tense. There 
was much talk, but no laughter. 




)far gegen Jlkgabe dst 




In 1915 one piece of bread was served in the restaurants in a paper 
envelope marked as above. 

Every now and then one caught the word Lusi- 
tania. Only the day before the steamship had 
been sunk. 

I clung to my companion. We talked in whis- 
pers. Once or twice an English word between 
us caught the ear of a passer-by, who turned, 
flushed and angry, to glare upon me. I soon 

28 



WAR-CURSED BERLIN 



ceased speaking. In the restaurant I made wild 
guesses and pointed at dishes on the menu and 
uttered no sound. I felt as I had during my 

^k) /Tagesbrotkar te 



Brot, Zwieback Oder 
mlt He? e hergestellter Kuchen 
darf nur gegen Vorlegpo* 
der Karte us 
sprechender ' 

nommen werden. 



Name d@s Qasthauses; 



53w^ Ushof - 

* QmscneJns ent- 



UnverkSufHch. 1 /^^K^\ Tag der Geltung: 
Rackseitebeachteat ^gg^-^pMllg; -- 

25 g 
Brot 

A facsimile of a bread card used in 1916. Two of the little checks 
secured one roll. 

voluntary week in prison, when under the hos- 
tile and unfriendly eyes of the matrons. 

The hotel had given us " bread-cards." With 
these we secured some black and sour-tasting 

29 




SHOBT KATIONS 

bread, done up in sealed paper packages. Un- 
der her breath my companion confided that Hun- 
gary was worse off than Germany. Hungary 
was nearly breadless. Germany had bought 
Hungary's flour supply. 

"A fine ally, Germany," continued my com- 
panion, " little she cares for us. She does n't 
even trust us. Every letter mailed in Berlin to 
Budapest is opened and read; Germany is won- 
derful, but I hate the people." 

Next morning we started out to find a place 
where English was tolerated, for my companion 
could not stay on. We hunted up some German- 
Americans who had invited American women 
peace delegates to come to Berlin. Their hos- 
pitality was boundless. I was to be a guest and 
passed from hand to hand. I saw my freedom 
vanishing, but was powerless. 

The German-Americans had planned the con- 
version of every American. I was seized upon 
as the missionary seizes the cannibal. I tried to 
extricate myself. Bitter little taunts were 
thrust at me. Did I fear starvation, or the bar- 
barians? Eventually I capitulated. I was to 
have one more night at the hotel with my gay 
friend before her departure. 

30 



WAR-CURSED BERLIN 

That night we went to the Winter Garden. 
The place was filled with soldiers. One feature 
of the performance was a series of living tableaux 
depicting war. They were intended to inspire 
wild patriotism. 

But the soldiers were silent; only a mild ap- 
plause greeted the effort. One scene, symbolic 
of stupendous heroism — the last soldier firing 
the last shot — was received in grim silence. 

All Berlin is grim and tense. People pass and 
repass on the street. The shops are open, life 
goes on. But there is no genial friendliness, no 
lingering over a glass of beer, no bit of gay song. 
Everywhere there are gray, dusty, and worn uni- 
forms. When a troop of soldiers pass, their 
faces are pale, their feet drag. The goose-step 
has vanished. 

With the departure of my companion, I settled 
down in a German home, a modest menage, but 
every detail perfect. All Germany runs without 
friction. 

My host is a university professor, his wife an 
American. They are all hospitality, but their 
zealousness torments me. I am the heathen 
whose soul must be saved. 

From the day of my arrival to the moment of 
31 



SHORT RATIONS 

my departure, we have but one topic of conver- 
sation — Germany's virtues and America's sins. 
A great pity seizes me for this tragic couple. 
Their thin, pallid faces bespeak wracked nerves 
and tortured souls. Under the domination of a 
Government they adore, they dare not criticize. 
To question would be to shatter their world. 
German culture, German art, the Government, 
Bismarck, the Kaiser, the invasion of Belgium, 
the sinking of the Lusitania — in all things Ger- 
many is wisdom and righteousness. Surrounded 
by enemies, wicked monsters, Germany, the per- 
fect, is fighting for its life. Better a thousand 
times that the Lusitania be sunk and Americans 
killed than let American bullets reach the Allies 
to inflict death on German soldiers. 

"American bullets" — hourly the phrase is 
flung in my face. 

My protest that as a peace delegate I am fight- 
ing for the prohibition of traffic in arms and the 
limitation of their manufacture to the Govern- 
ment, brings no relief. Upon some one must the 
pent-up fury and hate for despicable America be 
poured ! 

I feel like a drowning man being slowly pressed 
down, down, under the waves. But pity for this 

32 



WAR-CURSED BERLIN 

tragic couple gives me patience. Behind the os- 
tentatious display of bread and the sneering al- 
lusions to " starvation " and " barbarity," I see 
fear and bitterness bred of fear. 

The man is forty and frail. Yet in a few days 
he must report for duty to the army. A question 
and a dread has crept into the heart of the Ger- 
man people: 

" What if we should not win? " 

The grain supplies are running low. Not only 
bread, but fodder for the animals, is lacking. 
The cattle are being killed and put in cold stor- 
age to save the expense of feeding. The few cab 
horses in Berlin fall in the street from hunger. 
In all trains are printed the following " Ten 
Commandments " : 

(1.) Don't eat more than necessary. Don't eat between 
meals. 

(2.) Consider bread sacred. Use every little piece. Dry 
bread makes good soup. 

(3.) Be economical with butter and fat. Use jam instead 
of butter. Most of the fat we get from abroad. 

(4.) Use milk and cheese. 

(5.) Use much sugar. Sugar is nourishing. 

(6.) Boil potatoes with the skins on; then nothing is lost 
in peeling. 

(7.) Drink less beer and alcohol; then the supply of rye 
from which these are made will be greater. 

(8.) Eat vegetables and fruit. Plant vegetables in every 
33 



SHOBT EATIONS 

little piece of earth. Be economical with preserved vege- 
tables. 

(9.) Gather all you don't eat for the animals. 

(10.) Cook with gas and coke. The ashes from coke 
make good fertilizer. 

Moral — Obey these ten commandments and economize for 
the Fatherland. The rich must also follow these command- 
ments. 

With the fresh crops has come renewed 
strength. But when the fall comes, what is to 
be done? There is no longer a canning industry, 
for there is no tin. 

In such an atmosphere of depression and sup- 
pression my free American spirit suffocates. I 
plan an escape. Somewhere in Berlin are free, 
fearless souls. These I must find. My hosts 
fear to have me venture out alone. One of the 
American peace delegates was driven by an angry 
mob from a tram car for speaking English. ' 

I take my map and study it. I have the ad- 
dresses of some Social Democrats. How get to 
them? My hosts do not tolerate such people. 

Then I remember the American embassy and 
a young man friend. I plead a luncheon en- 
gagement. This seems safe, and in a cab, un- 
accompanied, I escape. To my countryman I ex- 
plain my predicament. All absences are to be 
accounted for by him. 

34 



WAR-CURSED BERLIN 

Then alone, map in hand, I start out. I walk 
many weary blocks slinking along side streets 
and avoid the complications of tram-car conver- 
sations. I seem to be living in the days of con- 
spiracies and dime novels. And truly ,1 am, for 
day by day the plot thickens. 

I am received with open arms by the rebel 
women, and at once nick-named the " criminal." 
In them I find the Germans I sought. Free, fear- 
less people, ichose love for the Fatherland is so 
great that they dare protest! 

But these women are momentarily in danger. 
Their gatherings are secret. We meet in out-of- 
the-way places. I find that my telephone mes- 
sages are intercepted; that a perfectly harmless 
letter is never delivered. I am watched. It is 
hard to believe. Surely I have dropped back 
into the Middle Ages. I have to pinch myself 
to realize I am an American, living in the twen- 
tieth century. 

Such innocent affairs, these clandestine meet- 
ings. Mere discussion of ways to protest against 
war and work for peace. True, we denounce the 
invasion of Belgium, declare that Germany be- 
gan the war, and speak with loathing of the mili- 
tarist spirit. But what American doesn't? 

35 



SHOET BATIONS 

The most revolutionary talk is uttered by a gray- 
haired woman, the mother of grown children. 
A burning flame, this woman; her face stamped 
with world suffering, her eyes the tragic eyes of 
a Jane Addams. In a secluded corner of a res- 
taurant she whispers the great heresy : 

" Germany's salvation lies in Germany's de- 
feat. If Germany wins when so many of her 
progressive young men have been slain, the peo- 
ple will be crushed in the grip of the mailed 
fist." 

To this woman, democracy is greater than any 
national triumph. With her I discussed the col- 
lapse of the Social Democrats in the hour of 
need, the victory of nationalism over interna- 
tionalism. She attributes it to military train- 
ing. During man's period of military service 
he becomes a Thing. Automatically, he acquires 
habits of obedience, is reduced to an unquestion- 
ing machine. Mechanically, when the call came, 
the Social Democrats fell into line with the 
others. 

But with time has come thought, and knowl- 
edge; knowledge that in the first instance Ger- 
many's war w T as not one of self-defense. But it 
is now too late to rebel. Most of the Social 

36 



WAR-CURSED BERLIN 

Democrats are at the front. From month to 
month they have put off protest as unwise. 

Only Liebknecht has made himself heard. 
Now he has been caught up in the iron hand and 
sent out to battle. 

But women escaped the spell of militarism. 
While the Government rejoiced at the submission 
of its Socialist men, the women grew active. 
Organizing a party of their own they fought 
bravely. 

Last fall Rosa Luxembourg dashed into the 
street and addressed a regiment of soldiers. 

" Don't go to war, don't shoot your brothers ! " 
she cried. 

For this offense she was sent to prison for a 
year. To-day she lies in solitary confinement. 
But her suffering only inspired the others. In 
the month of March seven hundred and fifty 
w r omen walked to the Reichstag. At the en- 
trance they halted. As the members entered 
they shouted: 

"We will have no more war. We will have 
peace ! " 

Quickly the police dispersed them, and the 
order went forth that no newspaper print one 
word about the protest. 

37 



SHORT RATIONS 

Still the women work on. On the eighth of 
April an International Socialist Woman's Con- 
gress was held at Berne, Switzerland. Ten na- 
tions were represented, including all the bel- 
ligerents. 

The task of peace propaganda in Germany is 
gigantic. Neither by letter nor by press can 
news be spread. Both are censored. The work 
must be carried on by spoken word, passed from 
mouth to mouth. The courage of the little band 
of women I had met was stupendous. Through 
them I learned to love Germany. My life in 
Berlin was a double one. I ate and slept and 
was unregenerate in one part of town, and really 
lived only when I escaped from " respectability," 
and, strange contradiction of terms, became — 
a " criminal " fighting for peace ! 

But wherever I was, one fact grew omnipres- 
ent, the magnificent organization of Germany. 
Here lay the country's power and her weakness. 
Her power because it made Germany a solid 
unit. There were no weak links in the chain. 
Her weakness because it robbed her people of 
individuality, made them cogs in a machine. 

Even in the midst of war Germany is superbly 
run. The lawns are weedless, the flower-beds 

38 



WAK-CURSED BERLIN 

wonderful. The streets are clean. The tasks 
the able-bodied men left are performed by 
women, children, and old men. Nothing is neg- 
lected. I went through Berlin's biggest hos- 
pital. It was marvelous. There was every 
apparatus that mind can conceive, or science in- 
vent. The building was beautiful, the lawns gay 
with jonquils and tulips. Little portable houses 
had been erected to care for the wounded. Sev- 
enteen of the staff's doctors have gone to the 
front, but seventeen women physicians have taken 
their places. Everything is as before. Ger- 
many's discipline is perfect. The German peo- 
ple do not reason and wonder why, for them 
there is only to do and die. Everywhere you feel 
the relentlessness of force and the power of or- 
ganization. 

As I walked through the Thiergarten one after- 
noon, I became conscious of a great rushing buzz- 
ing noise. Directly over my head and quite low 
was a great Zeppelin. I thanked heaven I was 
in Berlin and not Paris. The Germans are very 
busy with their Zeppelins. Just outside Berlin 
is a little wooden city, built to give airships prac- 
tice in hurling bombs. Men toiling for years 
have erected wonder-cities like Berlin, and now 

39 



SHORT RATIONS 

other men are practising day and night how to 
destroy such a city in a day. What a travesty ! 
It is common talk in Germany that they have at 
last discovered a bomb that, once ignited, cannot 
be put out by water. If so, heaven help us ! 

For Germany will never give in. She will 
fight to her last man. If pushed to the wall, all 
the bitterness and fear that have crept into the 
nation will be directed toward a gigantic effort to 
blow up the world. Germany no longer cares 
whom she hurts — like an unloved child at bay, 
she means to smash and kill. The pity of it! 
Never was there a more generous, soft-hearted, 
kindly people. Germany, the land of the Christ- 
mas-tree, and folk songs, and fireside, and gay 
childish laughter, turned into a relentless fight- 
ing machine! But each individual is merely a 
cog firmly fixed in the national machine, and will 
go on obediently as long as the ruling power 
turns the crank. 

It was with infinite relief that I made my de- 
parture one morning. The tragedy of Germany 
had eaten into my soul. As I waited on the plat- 
form for my train, carloads of soldiers came and 
went. 

One great trainful paused for some moments 
40 



WAR-CURSED BERLIN 

while tlie men drank coffee. A great desire 
seized me to call out to these men, to beg them 
not to go. Then I remembered Rosa Luxem- 
bourg, realized my impotence, knew I could ac- 
complish nothing, and resolutely turned my back. 
Then my train came, and I sped on into Hol- 
land. Suddenly life changed. I could speak 
and smile. Friendly eyes greeted me. I was no 
longer an outcast. From the car window I saw 
a subtle change had taken place in the landscape. 
In Germany there were no cattle in the pastures, 
and a few women tilled the ground. Now the 
meadows were full of sleek, fat cows. The peas- 
ants in the fields were singing. As we steamed 
through little cities all was bustle and activity. 
The horses looked well fed. People sat leisurely 
in front of cafes drinking beer. Normal life had 
come again. Vividly it came to me that Ger- 
many is being grievously hurt. 



41 



CHAPTER IV 

LONDON AND THE SUFFRAGETTES 

July and August, 1915. 
RQSSING the Channel in war time has 
drawbacks. The only available boat from 
Holland to England was small and tossed vio- 
lently. First-, second-, and third-class passen- 
gers mingled together on deck and were jointly 
ill. German aeroplanes flew over our heads as 
we left Flushing and filled us with apprehension. 
Toward late afternoon we sighted the English 
coast. I had come from Germany. My bag and 
trunk were full of journalist's notes. Would 
the English officials detain me? But my Amer- 
ican passport and my English-speaking tongue 
won favor. In Germany I had felt an outcast, in 
England I became part of the population. 

I took train from Tilbury to London. Printed 
notices greeted one in every carriage. tl Passen- 
gers will lower shades after dark, as any light 
will aid enemy Zeppelins ! " It was nine o'clock 

42 



LONDON AND THE SUFFRAGETTES 

when I reached London. A blackness, like a 
dense fog, enveloped the city. Overhead the 
stars shone, but underfoot only a thin yellow 
lane of light from shaded street lamps illumined 
the road. London at night had dropped back 
centuries. It was the London of Shakespeare. 
One would not have been surprised to be halted 
with the cry, " Who goes there? " 

When I reached my destination, I saw large 
wooden boxes filled with sand, standing on each 
landing. Over each box was a notice, " Use the 
sand to extinguish fire in case of falling bombs." 

Such is London at night, but daylight tells an- 
other story. I am awakened by a cheerful band. 
London outwardly has the appearance of a city 
on a holiday. Smiling, ruddy soldiers tramp up 
and down the street. Flags float from nearly 
every building. A little cockney urchin, as she 
hurries after a gay procession, remarks : " Ain't 
London grand these days ! It 's like being at the 
seashore all the time." 

Attractive-looking young women and men in 
khaki stand on the street corners, soliciting re- 
cruits. Gaudy posters, urgent appeals to the 
manhood of the country, decorate every house, 
fence, and taxi. The glory of the English army, 

43 



SHORT EATIONS 

the joy of enlistment, is told in picture and story. 
Camp life on wind-swept hills, with good food 
and exercise and twenty-one shillings a week for 
wife and child, say the posters, is to be had for 
the asking. 

The stay-at-home begins to feel he is missing 
a great adventure. The danger of war is mini- 
mized. It is pointed out it is dangerous to live 
in London. One poster with a picture of a Zep- 
pelin poised over defenseless London reads, 
" Better face bullets at the front, than a bomb 
at home." 

Securing an army by advertising is costly, 
but volunteer recruits make good soldiers. The 
English Tommy goes, willing and smiling, to 
battle. This kind of soldier is hard to beat. 
England lacks not in fighting-men, but in muni- 
tion. The Government may be running into 
bankruptcy, but the people are thriving. The 
almshouses are emptying. Work can be had. 
The police courts are almost idle. Never was 
London so crowded. There are few private au- 
tomobiles, but many taxis and motor-cycles. To 
cross the street is hazardous. Traffic is often 
blocked. Money flows freely. Prices are high, 
but there is little unemployment. 

44 



LONDON AND THE SUFFEAGETTES 

Men go to the front and women fill vacant 
places. Soldiers' wives can pay rent and buy 
clothes. Women occuping men's places spend 
twice what they did formerly. Girls run ele- 
vators, punch tickets, and act as post-office 
clerks. Outside one store a girl in high boots 
and rubber hat and coat calls taxis. 

Poverty has n't disappeared, but poverty is on 
the decrease. War has fallen heaviest on the 
middle class, the employers, the suppliers of lux- 
uries, the barristers. Hotels, hairdressing par- 
lors, and tourist agencies suffer. England's 
richest and poorest are dying at the front, but 
the stay-at-home wage-earner spends his money 
and prospers. 

The Government has entered into many social- 
istic ventures ; it runs the railroads and will soon 
control the coal mines; it settles labor disputes 
and supervises the saloon. Drunkenness is de- 
creasing. Measures have been passed in a day 
under war pressure that conservative England 
would have fought over for years. " We '11 
change back after the war," is the comment. 

England is learning through war that men 
are as valuable as property and must be fed and 
clothed. Nor is this the only lesson. Count- 

45 



SHOET RATIONS 

esses and duchesses daily turn over their auto- 
mobiles to wounded soldiers. Classes mix, bar- 
riers fall. But the day of voluntary service and 
idealism is passing — the cabinet begins to call 
for conscription. The National Registration 
Act has been passed. 

Newspapers and cabinet dwell on the selfish- 
ness of the working-man. The worker must be 
taught to take war seriously. He must be made 
to bleed and die for the country. 

The Government's newest ally is Mrs. Pank- 
hurst and a portion of the militant suffragettes. 
One day as I passed Trafalgar Square it was 
crowded. Mrs. Drummond from the foot of the 
monument was pleading for volunteers and mu- 
nition workers. "We have given up our fight 
for the vote; we think only of our country. 
There is a time for everything ; to-day is the time 
for sacrifices. You must be content with half- 
pay. There must be no strikes. You must suf- 
fer for England." This in substance is her 
speech. The crowd moves uneasily. Occasion- 
ally there is half-hearted applause, but many 
faces express mute protest. 

These suffragettes have betrayed the woman's 
cause. Formerly they defended the down-trod- 

46 



LONDON AND THE SUFFRAGETTES 

den, now they side with autocracy, hoping so to 
win the vote after the war. Not content with 
speaking, Mrs. Pankhurst organized a woman's 
procession. Every newspaper advertised the 
event. One daily, which formerly scorned suf- 
frage, gave a page to the cause. There was a 
drizzling rain the day of the procession. I stood 
on the curbstone to watch it pass. For twenty- 
eight minutes a stream of women four abreast 
filed by. There were five thousand — not fifty 
thousand, as the papers stated. Most of the 
marchers were shop and factory girls. They 
had been gathered in from byways and hedges. 
Many did not know why they marched. There 
were few real suffragettes. Four times I was 
urged to fall in line. The spectators were silent. 
They had no words of encouragement for this 
demonstration of patriotism. Each knew it was 
a farce. Eighty thousand women are registered, 
but the Government has only employed thirty- 
five hundred. Each knew a million women work- 
ers could be had for a living wage. 

Mrs. Pankhurst by her tactics has split the 
Woman's Suffrage Political Union. Some mem- 
bers were openly rebellious. They walked up 
and down and distributed a leaflet, printed in 

47 



SHORT RATIONS 

suffragette colors and headed "Votes-for 
Women," which read : " The procession to-day 
is not composed of suffragettes, though Mrs. 
Pankhurst is leading it and using the Votes-for- 
Women offices to organize it. The W. S. P. U. 
was founded to demand the enfranchisement of 
women, a demand not made less but more urgent 
by this war." 

With very different emotion I viewed Sylvia 
Pankhurst's procession. Sylvia does not speak 
to her mother or to her sister, Crystabel. Sylvia 
is the leader of a forlorn cause. Neither news- 
papers nor public paid heed to her little army. 
They marched at night through a dark and si- 
lent London. They bore flashing torches. 
Women who had worked all day, mothers with 
babies, trudged seven miles to protest against 
conscription, against national registration, 
against voteless women being used by the Gov- 
ernment for any and all purposes at any pay. 
Up the Strand they came, a little band of four 
hundred, ragged and weary. I found myself un- 
consciously falling into line. A woman carry- 
ing a baby trudged at my side. " It is n't mine," 
she explained, " but the mother is one of the 
leaders." Her face was white with fatigue, but 

48 



LONDON AND THE SUFFKAGETTES 

her arms clasped the child lovingly. She herself 
was soon to be a mother. I took the baby from 
her and slung it across my shoulder. So we pro- 
ceeded up the Strand and down Whitehall to 
the Houses of Parliament. Just opposite these 
great buildings we halted. Here was the meet- 
ing hall. 

In flocked the little company, and then came 
real speeches from real working women : 

" Our men have gone to war. They are fight- 
ing for England, we must keep England a place 
worth fighting for. Women must not take men's 
places at reduced wages. This will mean hard- 
ship for the men when they return. Employers 
will keep the women rather than raise wages. 
This will mean sex war and revolution. This 
must not be. We must keep up the wage stan- 
dard. We must not let the Government own us 
body and soul. The world says it is fighting 
Prussianism. But each day of war our govern- 
ment grows more autocratic. Let us fight to 
keep Prussianism out of England. England 
must remain the land of freedom." So spoke 
this heroic band. 

My little woman had come back for the baby. 

"You will ride home?" I said. 
49 



SHORT RATIONS 

" Yes," she replied. " But some can't — they 
haven't a penny for carfare." 

Germany is the land of paternalism and au- 
tocracy. The Germans are better housed, better 
fed, better organized, than in other nations. 
These benefits are conferred from above. Such 
a system produces obedience but kills initiative. 
English workers are not as well off, physically, 
but intellectually they are free. They make 
progress through their own efforts. They are 
self-reliant and strong. Ultimately the system 
of freedom will conquer the one of autocracy. 
Therefore England must be kept free. The aver- 
age Englishman knows this. He watches with 
dismay his government growing aggressive and 
militaristic. 

As yet the Government has not gone far. It 
has its hand on the pulse of the people and it 
feels rebellion. It declares strikes illegal, but 
ultimately decides in favor of the coal mine 
strikers. Never was England more awake, more 
alive, more conscious of her destiny. The brave 
and smiling Tommy, the prosperous worker, the 
bustle and activity of London, the friendliness 
of the people, build a strong country. Germany 
may win untold battles, but she cannot conquer a 

50 



LONDON AND THE SUFFRAGETTES 

prosperous, democratic, conscriptionless Eng- 
land. 

But as I write I remember a scene on a street 
corner and grow apprehensive. It is a recruit- 
ing meeting. A sturdy British soldier is call- 
ing for volunteers. He does not appeal, he com- 
mands. He sees a likely looking young chap in 
the crowd. He points him out and orders him 
front. The lad is reluctant, but the crowd push 
him forward. The soldier feels of the boy and 
begins to bully. Taunts of cowardice are used 
until the lad yields. But it is equipment rather 
than more men that are needed. 

Such methods are ugly. The Englishman dis- 
likes them. England criticizes its rulers. This 
worries the Government and it attempts sup- 
pression. An eloquent pacifist is arrested. But 
the people continue to talk of peace. They do 
not as a mass hate Germany. They view Ger- 
many as a brutal man who has knocked a woman 
down. The woman must be protected. But be- 
yond protection the average Englishman does 
not wish to go. He does not want to smash and 
kill. 

The other day two or three thousand volun- 
teers marched down Charing Cross Boad. The 

51 



SHOKT KATIONS 

'bus on which I rode kept pace with the soldiers. 
From doorways and windows people leaned, to 
see the men pass. Girls smiled and waved, little 
gifts were tossed and caught, a cheerful chaff 
and banter was kept up along the route. From 
neither the onlookers nor the soldiers was there 
any expression of patriotism, no cheers — no ap- 
plause. The onlookers seemed to say : " This 
war is nasty business. It's got to be put 
through. We wish you luck. You are brave to 
go, but we wish there was some other solution." 

And the soldiers seemed to answer : " We 
hate it, too, but each man must do his bit. If 
we don't get killed, we're not badly off. You 
needn't think us heroes." 

This attitude may not be a thrilling one, but it 
is steady and safe. If freedom and democracy 
are kept alive England cannot be beaten. 

At night searchlights flash over London. 
They search the sky for invading Zeppelins ; but 
by day a cheerful people fulfil their tasks. 



52 



CHAPTER V 

NURSING THE WOUNDED IN PARIS 

I WANTED to see France. The land of the 
battle-field would be revealing. Germany 
was grim, bitter, reckless, and determined; Eng- 
land busy and outwardly normal. What should 
I find in France — a land inhabited by the en- 
emy? 

Each day passport regulations grew more 
rigid. England is easy to enter but hard to 
leave. The English army captain at Folkestone 
viewed my passport with disfavor. It showed 
the stamp of the Woman's Peace Congress at 
The Hague and my visit to Germany. He 
frowned and looked at me sternly. Suddenly his 
eye lighted on the lapel of my coat. My heart 
sank. In my buttonhole was a peace button, a 
memento of The Hague congress. I had forgot- 
ten to remove it. " You 're a dangerous woman," 
he said — " I can't let you pass." 

One by one my lucky fellow travelers success- 
53 



SHORT RATIONS 

fully emerged with stamped passports. The 
Channel steamer began to puff and snort. I 
must get to Paris. Furtively I watched the 
English captain. I took the peace button from 
my coat — a little blue disc, on it in letters of 
white the word " Peace." What a topsy-turvy 
world ! A bomb labeled " For the Kaiser/' would 
have proclaimed me a safe person, while a peace 
button made me " a dangerous woman." Sud- 
denly I laughed. Going to the captain I held 
out the button. " See," I said, " I '11 give it to 
you." He tried to be stern, but his humor got 
the best of him. His mouth twitched, but he 
straightened up and said severely, " If you speak 
one word of peace, I '11 have you arrested." 
You never can tell what will satisfy passport 
officials. Humor and a letter from the " Eng- 
lish Nation " testifying I had written an article 
on Germany won the day, when a letter of intro- 
duction signed by Secretary of State Lansing 
failed. 

I smiled my good-bys to the English captain 
and dashed on the boat, as it moved into the 
Channel. 

It was late evening when I reached Paris. 
There was not a ray of light in the street when I 

54 



NUKSING THE WOUNDED IN PABXS 

stepped from the cab to my lodging place; in 
that one glance I knew Paris was no longer 
Paris. The next day I began to explore. I sat 
at sidewalk cafes and watched the people. The 
lightness, the gaiety, the bubbling laughter and 
song have vanished. The Opera House sparkled 
in the sunshine, the driver's whip snapped; the 
streets were crowded, but a shadow lay across 
the city. Sorrowing black-clad people filled the 
streets. I saw that practically every woman 
was in mourning. And the men, where were 
they? Gray-haired men drove cabs, white- 
haired, bent-shouldered waiters served drinks; 
but straight, upstanding young men there were 
none. A one-legged Turk, scarcely more than a 
boy, went hustling by on crutches with an empty 
red trouser-leg flapping aimlessly. Paris is full 
of cripples. Legless, armless, blind men, all 
young, passed in a steady stream. Every able- 
bodied man in France under forty-eight has gone 
to war. Unceasingly gray auto-ambulances em- 
blazoned with red crosses dash by, bearing their 
burdens to hospitals all over Paris. Cripples, 
widows and ambulances — these are the dom- 
inant notes. 

France says little and does much. She is 
55 



SHORT RATIONS 

proud; she is heroic; she fights on. But the 
heart and life of France is being crushed. It is 
impossible to see this and do nothing. I offer 
my services as assistant nurse at the American 
ambulance and am accepted. At eight every 
morning a hospital car takes me to the American 
ambulance where I work until six. It is a busy 
life. At first I turn in horror from those swol- 
len, red, raw, pus-flowing wounds, occupying the 
place of an arm or leg or a portion of a face. 
But in twenty-four hours I am dressing these 
wounds, self -forgotten. It is good to be working 
instead of waiting — waiting for unknown hor- 
rors. But when a man's wound heals and his 
strength returns I rebel at sending him back to 
battle. Is the labor all to be lost? Faster than 
women can save, men go out and kill. For- 
tunately, or unfortunately, not many men leave 
the ambulance for the front. Generally they 
have been too terribly wounded. They come to 
us with the jaw and lower face blown away or 
a lung ripped. But science is marvelous. Ribs 
are cut from the patient and new jaws made, 
arms, legs and eyes amputated, and artificial ones 
substituted. The ambulance loses by death but 
six per cent, of its cases, yet only one in ten of 

56 



NUKSING THE WOUNDED IN PAKIS 

the men in my ward will be able to return to the 
front. This accounts for the endless procession 
of cripples. 

On the second morning as I hurry down a long 
hospital corridor I see a familiar face. A short, 
dark-haired, dark-eyed young man is coming to- 
ward me. He is one of the wounded and his 
right arm is gone. His eye catches mine. He 
stops, bewildered. Then comes recognition. It 
is Zeni Peshkoff — Maxime Gorki's adopted son. 
Eight years ago when this man was a boy I had 
known him in America. I grasp the left hand 
and my eyes drop before the empty right sleeve. 
But Zeni Peshkoff is still gay, laughing Zeni. 
He makes light of his trouble. Not until later 
do I understand the terrible suffering there is 
from the missing arm or realize how he struggles 
to use that which is not. Peshkoff had been in 
the trenches for months. He had been through 
battles and bayonet charges and escaped unhurt, 
but at last his day came. A bursting shell de- 
stroyed the right arm. He knew the danger, 
and struggling to his feet, walked from the bat- 
tle-field. With the left hand he supported the 
bleeding, broken right arm. As he stumbled 
back past trenches full of German prisoners his 

57 



SHORT RATIONS 

plight was so pitiful, his pluck so great, that in- 
stinctively these men saluted. At the Place de 
Secours eight hundred wounded had been brought 
in. There were accommodations for one hun- 
dred and fifty. 

All night young Peshkoff lay unattended, for 
there were others worse hurt. Gangrene de- 
veloped, and he watched it spread from fingers to 
hand and from hand to arm. In the morning a 
friendly lieutenant noticed him. " There 's one 
chance," he said, " and that 's a hospital. If you 
can walk, come with me." Slowly young Pesh- 
koff arose. Half fainting he dressed and went 
with the lieutenant — first by taxi to the train 
and then twelve torturing hours to Paris. As 
the hours passed the gangrene crept higher and 
higher. The sick man grew giddy with fever. 
At each station his carriage companions, fearing 
death, wished to leave him upon the platform. 
But the lieutenant was firm. The one chance 
for life was the hospital. Finally Paris was 
reached; a waiting ambulance rushed him to 
the hospital. Immediately he was taken to the 
operating room and the arm amputated. A half 
hour more and his life could not have been saved. 
But this dramatic incident is only one of many. 

58 




w _ 




NURSING THE WOUNDED IN PARIS 

The pluck of the average soldier is unbeliev- 
able. Operations are accepted without question. 
There are no protests — only the murmured 
" C'est la guerre, que voulez-vousf " 

The wounded do not like to talk war. Their 
experiences have been too terrible. They try to 
forget. War is no longer a series of gallant 
deeds; it is a matter of bursting shells. One 
man with leg blown off had never even seen the 
enemy. Bayonet charges after months of wait- 
ing are almost a relief. But a normal man does 
not enjoy running his bayonet into his fellow- 
man. It can be done only under intense excite- 
ment. Self-defense and stimulants are the aids. 

Only one soldier spoke with gusto of the Ger- 
mans he had killed. This man had had his lower 
face shot away. A wounded German lying on 
the ground had risen on his elbow and shot him. 
" Then," said the Frenchman, " I took my bay- 
onet and ran him clear through." He said: 
" Ugh, I ran him through again and he was 
dead." To most men those bayonet charges are 
like mad dreams. 

I asked Zeni Peskkoff, socialist, what his sen- 
sations were when he went out to kill. " It 
didn't seem real, it doesn't now. Before my 

61 



SHORT RATIONS 

last charge the lieutenant and I were filled with 
the beauty of the night. We sat gazing at the 
stars. Then the command came and we rushed 
forward. It did not seem possible I was killing 
human beings." It is this unreality that sus- 
tains men. Germans are not human beings — ■ 
only the enemy. For the wounded French sol- 
dier will tell you he loathes war and longs for 
peace. He fights for one object — a permanent 
peace. He fights to save his children from fight- 
ing. 

" Have you any children? " I asked one sol- 
dier. " No, thank God/' is the reply. " But 
why? " " Because," comes the fierce answer, 
" if I had a son I would rather he deserted than 
see what I have seen." This man is not unusual. 
The soldiers — not the women — are beginning 
to say : " We will have no more children unless 
there is no more war." 

In the hospital the truth is spoken. No sol- 
dier wants to go back to battle. Yet he goes and 
every man in France goes willingly. What else 
is there to do? The enemy is in the land and 
must be driven out. It may be the Frenchman 
will smash himself and his house, but as he says 
with a significant shrug, {t C'est la guerre, que 

62 



NURSING THE WOUNDED IN PARIS 

voulez-vous? " How often that phrase struck 
my ears. In the operating room, at the death- 
bed, in the presence of hundreds of little white 
crosses on a bloody battle-field, wearily, cynic- 
ally, despairingly, I hear the voice of the soldier 
proclaiming, " C'est la guerre, que voulez vousf " 
Yet out of the suffering of war has come gentle- 
ness. Ready hands help one another. Strangers 
talk in the street. Wherever I go my little red 
cross sign of the hospital wins favor. A torn 
skirt is humbly mended on bended knees, and 
when I offer a fee the money is pushed back into 
my hands with the words, "Pour les blessees." 
This is the language of the women — "pour les 
blessees/' No service is too great for the 
wounded. Weeping women stop to tell each 
other their stories. Vainly I search for signs of 
heartlessness or gaiety. The Montmartre dis- 
trict is closed. The paint is peeling from the 
front of the Moulin Rouge, and the theater door 
sags on its hinges. The Folies Bergeres was 
open and I went there. But it was a dreary per- 
formance—no lightness, no gay little jokes, no 
evening dresses. Even the street women wore 
black and plied their trade cheerlessly. I re- 
member the conversation of my neighbors in a 

63 



SHOET EATIONS 

restaurant. Unknown woman to soldier home 
on leave, " Can't you stay over this evening? " 
Soldier : " No." Woman : " I don't want any 
money; I want to be with you and talk." Sol- 
dier: "Why?" Woman: "Paris is so bor- 
ing; there are no men." 

It is a curious anomaly that in all Paris there 
is no "peace movement/' yet there as nowhere 
else one can talk peace. The soldiers in the hos- 
pital listen eagerly to my tales of the Social Dem- 
ocrats in Germany. I suggest internal revolu- 
tion rather than smashing by an outside force 
as a way of ending war and militarism. To this 
they agree. But how reach Social Democrats and 
start revolution? That is the problem. To ne- 
gotiate with the German government they be- 
lieve impossible. The Government is not to be 
trusted. It would lie and there would be an- 
other war. Germany must be defeated because 
that will defeat militarism, end war, and bring 
permanent peace. Germany bitter, relentless, 
ugly and at bay; France tragic, proud, suffer- 
ing and resolute; England annoyed, reluctant, 
capable, and sure; and all determined to fight 
the thing through to a finish. Is there a way 
out? When will it end? "I don't know when 

64 



NURSING THE WOUNDED IN PARIS 

the war will end," says a soldier, "but I know 
where it will end — in the trenches." More and 
more it grows clear that the test is to be endur- 
ance, not victories. 

One day I visited the battle-field of the Marne. 
This is twenty miles or more from the front. 
Yet at the Marne new trenches are being dug. 
France is covered with trenches; as my train 
sped to Boulogne soldiers were building them 
to the railroad track. From day to day as battle 
rages a trench may be taken. But how can either 
side beat back over miles and miles of trenches? 
Meanwhile human life ebbs out The fields of the 
Marne are one vast cemetery. The land is dot- 
ted with little white crosses. Yet from this land 
the peasant gathers his crop. Never has the 
ground been more fertile. With a crack of his 
whip the driver points to a great open meadow. 
" There," he says, " four thousand Germans were 
burned to death, and to-day we are gathering 
the biggest hay crop the land has known." 

On one of my last days in Paris I went to the 
Invalides. Some wounded soldiers were being 
decorated. The place was packed. Weeping 
relatives came to honor their brave men. A 
mother with a baby stands beside me. Tears are 

65 



SHOKT EATIONS 
GOUVERNEMENT MILITAtRE DE PARIS 



PREFECTURE DE POLICE 



L4z&2scLce (^t^i^ra^^-i^-^t^-^^^*^A^ 



Pour lea personnes voyagaant 



Kaadd- 




Prenoms ^&(%>t/^ 

Nationality >£L&ittgsk^&*iSLt**i4. Cheveux (^l^jC*^*^ 



Profession ^J=x*t*£tsi<v*<&4~eJL>£- 



a Ivic ycte t t e . 
en tramway. 

en chemin de fer. 

Signojement : 



Barbe Tl__i?L — „ 

■2 k, Signes particulierii apparests : 

z 



uurecm^porteur : 
Destination pour les voyageuri en chemin d| fer 

^POU^nelivre bJkl&U^^, leJLJL&4±z£l915 

Lewomipi^g^iyS de Police, 





Penms valable du < v (Z*0^/(- au 



Reenter & loutc riuraiS 



Tout stranger porteur de ce sanf-conduit est term de presenter a toute requi- 
sition des autorites soit son pcrmis de sejoor, soit son passeport, 1'uu et l'autro 
munis de sa photographie. 

A f acsimilie of the safe conduct given the author to the battlefield of the 

Marne. 



66 



NUBSING THE WOUNDED IN PAEIS 

on her cheeks, but pride shines in her eyes as a 
blind husband is led to his place. Then a band 
strikes up, and out across the courtyard move a 
hundred legless, armless and blind men. The 
Commander-in-Chief is bestowing kisses and pin- 
ning on medals. I shut my eyes. I see France 
as she will be in a few years — swarming with 
cripples. I see young men made old and help- 
less, sitting in chimney corners, silently finger- 
ing medals. 



67 



CHAPTER yi 

LITTLE BROTHER 

WHILE in Holland I visited a Belgian refu- 
gee camp. The children struck me as 
particularly pathetic. On one occasion I dis- 
covered a small boy hiding in the bushes and 
sobbing with fear. Some Dutch soldiers were 
marching down the road. He had mistaken them 
for Germans. The horror of the German descent 
upon his land had left its mark. I related this 
incident to a Dr. Aletta Jacobs who, with some 
other Dutch women, had had charge of a refugee 
camp. It was then she told me of a little Bel- 
gian refugee who had come to her early in the 
war. I took down the parts as she gave them, 
and can vouch for the truth of the following 
story. 

It was a warm summer's day in late August. 
No men were visible in the Belgian hamlet. 
The women reaped in the fields; the insects 
hummed in the dry warm air; the house doors 

68 



LITTLE BEOTHER 

stood open. On a bed in a room in one of the 
cottages lay a woman. Beside her sat a small 
boy. He was still, but alert. His eyes fol- 
lowed the buzzing flies. With a bit of paper he 
drove the intruders from the bed. His mother 
slept. It was evident from the pale, drawn face 
that she was ill. 

Suddenly the dreaming, silent summer day was 
broken by the sound of clattering hoofs. Some 
one was riding hurriedly through the town. 

The woman moved uneasily. Her eyes opened. 
She smiled at the little boy. 

" What is it, dear? " 

The boy went to the window. Women were 
gathering in the street. He told his mother and 
hurried from the room. Her eyes grew troubled. 
In a few minutes the child was back, breathless 
and excited. 

" O, mother, mother, the Germans are com- 
ing! " 

The woman braced herself against the shock. 
At first she hardly grasped the news. Then her 
face whitened, her body quivered and became con- 
vulsed. Pain sprang to her eyes, driving out 
fear; beads of perspiration stood on her fore- 
head ; a little animal cry of pain broke from her 

69 



SHORT RATIONS 

lips. The boy gazed at her paralyzed, horrified ; 
then he flung himself down beside the bed and 
seized his mother's hand. 

" What is it, mother, what is it? " 

The paroxysm of pain passed; the woman's 
body relaxed, her hand reached for the boy's head 
and stroked it. " It 's all right, my son." Then 
as the pain began again, "Quick, sonny, bring 
auntie." 

The boy darted from the room. Auntie was 
the woman doctor of B. He found her in the 
Square. The townspeople were wildly excited. 
The Germans were coming. But the boy thought 
only of his mother. He tugged at auntie's sleeve. 
His frenzied efforts at last caught her attention. 
She saw he was in need and went with him. 

Agonizing little moans issued from the house 
as they entered. In an instant the midwife un- 
derstood. She wanted to send the boy away, but 
she must have help. Who was there to fetch and 
carry? The neighbors, terrified at their danger, 
were making plans for departure. She let the 
boy stay. 

Through the succeeding hour a white-faced lit- 
tle boy worked manfully. His mother's cries 
wrung his childish heart. W T hy did babies come 

70 



LITTLE BROTHER 

this way? He could not understand. Would 
she die? Had his birth given such pain? If 
only she would speak ! And once, as if realizing 
his necessity, his mother did speak. 

" It 's all right, my son ; it will soon be over." 

That message brought comfort; but his heart 
failed when the end came. He rushed to the 
window and put his little hands tight over his 
ears. It was only for a moment. He was 
needed. His mother's moans had ceased and a 
baby's cry broke the stillness. 

The drama of birth passed, the midwife grew 
restless. She became conscious of the outer 
world. There were high excited voices; wagons 
clattered over stones ; moving day had descended 
on the town. She turned to the window. Neigh- 
bors with wheelbarrows and carts piled high 
with household possessions hurried by. They 
beckoned to her. 

For a moment the woman hesitated. She 
looked at the mother on the bed, nestling her 
babe to her breast ; then the panic of the outside 
world seized her. Quickly she left the room. 

The small boy knelt at his mother's bedside, his 
little face against hers. Softly he kissed the pale 
cheek. The boy's heart had become a man's. He 

71 



SHOKT EATIONS 

tried by touch and look to speak his love, his 
sympathy, his admiration. His mother smiled 
at him as she soothed the baby, glad to be free 
from pain. But presently the shouted order of 
the departing townspeople reached her ears. 
She stirred uneasily. Fear crept into her eyes. 
Passionately she strained her little one to her. 

" How soon, little son, how soon? " 

The lad, absorbed in his mother, had forgotten 
the Germans. With a start, he realized the dan- 
ger. His new-born manhood took command. 
His father was at the front. He must protect 
his mother and tiny sister. His mother was too 
ill to move, but they ought to get away. Who 
had a wagon? He hurried to the window, but 
already even the stragglers were far down the 
road. All but three of the horses had been sent 
to the front. Those three were now out of sight 
with their overloaded wagons. The boy stood 
stupefied and helpless. The woman on the bed 
stirred. 

" My son," she called. " My son." 

He went to her. 

" You must leave me and go on." 

" I can't, mother." 

The woman drew the boy down beside her. 
72 



LITTLE BKOTHEE 

She knew the struggle to come. How could she 
make him understand that his life and the baby's 
meant more to her than her own. Lovingly she 
stroked the soft cheek. It was a grave, deter- 
mined little face with very steady eyes. 

" Son, dear, think of little sister. The Ger- 
mans won't bother with babies. There is n't any 
milk. Mother hasn't any for her. You must 
take baby in your strong little arms and run — 
run with her right out of this land into Holland." 

But he could not be persuaded. The mother 
understood that love and a sense of duty held 
him. She gathered the baby in her arms and 
tried to rise, but the overtaxed heart failed and 
she fell back half-fainting. The boy brought 
water and bathed her head until the tired eyes 
opened. 

" Little son, it will kill mother if you don't 
go." 

The boy's shoulders shook. He knelt by the 
bed. A sob broke from him. Then there came 
the faint far-distant call of the bugle. Fran- 
tically the mother gathered up her baby and held 
it out to the boy. 

" For mother's sake, son, for mother." 

In a flash, the boy understood. His mother 
73 



SHORT RATIONS 

had risked her life for the tiny sister. She 
wanted the baby saved more than anything in the 
world. He dashed the tears from his eyes. He 
wound his arms about his mother in a long pas- 
sionate embrace. 

" I '11 take her, mother ; I '11 get her there 
safely. 

The bugle grew louder. Through the open 
window on the far-distant road could be seen a 
cloud of dust. There was not a moment to lose. 
Stooping, the boy caught up the red squirming 
baby. Very tenderly he placed the little body 
against his breast and buttoned his coat over his 
burden. 

The sound of marching feet could now be 
heard. Swiftly he ran to the door. As he 
reached the threshold he turned. His mother, 
her eyes shining with love and hope, was waving 
a last good-by. Down the stairs, out the back 
door, and across the fields sped the child. Over 
grass and across streams flew the sure little feet. 
His heart tugged fiercely to go back, but that look 
in his mother's face sustained him. 

He knew the road to Holland. It was straight 
to the north ; but he kept to the fields. He did n't 
want the baby discovered. Mile after mile, 

74 



LITTLE BROTHER 

through hour after hour he pushed on, until twi- 
light came. He found a little spring and drank 
thirstily. Then he moistened the baby's mouth. 
The little creature was very good. Occasionally 
she uttered a feeble cry, but most of the time she 
slept. The boy was intensely weary. His feet 
ached. He sat down under a great tree' and 
leaned against it. Was it right to keep a baby 
out all night? Or ought he to go to some farm- 
house? If he did, would the people take baby 
away ? His mother had said, " Run straight to 
Holland.' 7 But Holland was twenty miles away. 
He opened his coat and looked at the tiny crea- 
ture. She slept peacefully. 

The night was very warm. He decided to re- 
main where he was. It had grown dark. The 
trees and bushes loomed big. His heart beat 
quickly. He was glad of the warm, soft, live 
little creature in his arms. He had come on this 
journey for his mother, but suddenly his boy's 
heart opened to the tiny clinging thing at his 
breast. His little hand stroked the baby ten- 
derly. Then he stooped, and softly his lips 
touched the red wrinkled face. Presently his lit- 
tle body relaxed and he slept. He had walked 
eight miles. Through the long night the deep 

75 



SHORT RATIONS 

sleep of exhaustion held him. He lay quite mo- 
tionless, head and shoulders resting against the 
tree-trunk, and the new-born babe enveloped in 
the warmth of his body and arms slept also. 
The feeble cry of the child woke him. The sun 
was coming over the horizon and the air was alive 
with the twitter of birds. 

At first he thought he was at home and had 
awakened to a long happy summer's day. Then 
the fretful little cries brought back memory with 
a rush. His new-born love flooded him. Ten- 
derly he laid the little sister down. Stretching 
his stiff and aching body he hurried for water. 
Very carefully he put a few drops in the little 
mouth and wet the baby's lips with his little 
brown finger. This proved soothing, and the 
cries ceased. The tug of the baby's lips on his 
finger clutched his heart. The helpless little 
thing was hungry, and he too was desperately 
hungry. What should he do? His mother had 
spoken of milk. He must get milk. Again he 
gathered up his burden and buttoned his coat. 
From the rising ground on which he stood he 
could see a farmhouse with smoke issuing from 
its chimney. He hurried down to the friendly 
open door. A kindly woman gave him food. 

76 



LITTLE BROTHER 

She recognized him as a little refugee bound for 
Holland. He had difficulty in concealing the 
baby, but fortunately she did not cry. The 
woman saw that he carried something, but when 
he asked for milk she concluded he had a pet kit- 
ten. He accepted this explanation. Eagerly he 
took the coveted milk and started on. 

But day-old babies do not know how to drink. 
When he dropped milk into the baby's mouth she 
choked and sputtered. He had to be content 
with moistening her mouth and giving her a milk- 
soaked finger. 

Refreshed by sleep and food, the boy set off 
briskly. Holland did not now seem so far off. 
If only his mother were safe ! Had the Germans 
been good to her? These thoughts pursued and 
tormented him. As before, he kept off the beaten 
track, making his way through open meadows 
and patches of trees. But as the day advanced, 
the heat grew intense. His feet ached, his arms 
ached, and, worst of all, the baby cried fretfully. 
At noon he came to a little brook sheltered by 
trees. He sat down on the bank and dangled 
his swollen feet in the cool, fresh stream. But 
his tiny sister still cried. Suddenly a thought 
came to him. Placing the baby on his knees he 

77 



SHORT RATIONS 

undid the towel that enveloped her. There had 
been no time for clothes. Then he dipped a 
dirty pocket handkerchief in the brook and gently 
sponged the hot, restless little body. Very ten- 
derly he washed the little arms and legs. That 
successfully accomplished he turned the tiny 
creature and bathed the small back. Evidently 
this was the proper treatment, for the baby grew 
quiet. His heart swelled with pride. Rever- 
ently he wrapped the towel around the naked 
little one, and administering a few drops of milk, 
again went on. 

All through that long hot afternoon he toiled. 
His footsteps grew slower and slower; he 
covered diminishing distances. Frequently he 
stopped to rest, and now the baby had begun 
again to cry fitfully. At one time his strength 
failed. Then he placed the baby under a tree 
and rising on his knees uttered a prayer : — 

" O God, she 's such a little thing, help me to 
get her there." 

Like a benediction came the cool breeze of the 
sunset hour, bringing renewed strength. 

In the afternoon of the following day, a wagon 
stopped before a Belgian Refugee camp in Hol- 

78 



LITTLE BROTHER 

land. Slowly and stiffly a small boy slid to the 
ground. He had been picked up just over the 
border by a friendly farmer and driven to camp. 
He was dirty, bedraggled, and footsore. Very 
kindly the ladies' committee received him. He 
was placed at a table and a bowl of hot soup was 
set before him. He ate awkwardly with his left 
hand. His right hand held something beneath 
his coat, which he never for a moment forgot. 
The women tried to get his story, but he remained 
strangely silent. His eyes wandered over the 
room and back to their faces. He seemed to be 
testing them. Not for an hour, not until there 
was a faint stirring in his coat, did he disclose 
his burden. Then, going to her whom he had 
chosen as most to be trusted, he opened his jacket. 
In a dirty towel lay a naked, miserably thin, 
three-days-old baby. 

Mutely holding out the forlorn object, the boy 
begged help. Bit by bit they got his story. 
Hurriedly a Belgian Refugee mother was sent for. 
She was told what had happened, and she took 
the baby to her breast. Jealously the boy stood 
guard while his tiny sister had her first real meal. 
But the spark of life was very low. 

For two days the camp concentrated on the 
79 



SHORT RATIONS 

tiny creature. The boy never left his sister's 
side. But her ordeal had been too great. It was 
only a feeble flicker of life at best, and during the 
third night the little flame went out. The boy 
was utterly crushed. He had now but one 
thought — to reach his mother. It was impos- 
sible to keep the news from him longer. He 
would have gone in search. Gently he was told 
of the skirmish that had destroyed the Belgian 
hamlet. There were no houses or people in the 
town that had once been his home. 

" That is his story/' ended the friendly Dutch 
woman. 

" And his father? " I inquired. 

" Killed at the front/' was the reply. 

I rose to go, but I could not get the boy out of 
my mind. What a world! What intolerable 
suffering Was there no way out? Then the 
ever-recurring phrase of the French and Belgian 
soldiers came to me. When I had shuddered at 
ghastly wounds, at death, at innumerable white 
crosses on a bloody battlefield, invariably, in dry, 
cynical, hopeless tones, the soldier would make 
the one comment, — 

<e O'est la guerre; que voulez-vous? " 
80 



PART II 



CHAPTER I 

THE SCANDINAVIAN COUNTRIES 

'T "K TILL you go to Germany? " 

V V It seemed a large order after my ex- 
perience in Germany in 1915. I and my ances- 
tors are American, but my name is wrong. 
Madeleine (French) Zabriskie (Polish) Doty 
(derived from the English Doten). 

"We want the truth," said the editor. 
" You 're a neutral, you want peace ; we think 
you '11 tell it." 

That settled it. To be asked to tell the truth is 
a proposition not to reject. 

The quickest route to Germany lay through 
Norway, for all steamers, both Dutch and Nor- 
wegian, must sail around the north of Scotland. 

On the 15th of July I board the Kristiania- 
fjord. I have never been to Norway. It is like 
going to Greenland. My heart is in my boots. I 
feel very small and without courage. At the last 
moment I want to desert. As the steamer pulls 
out of the dock New York seems a heavenly city 

83 



SHORT RATIONS 

and my family waving a last farewell infinitely 
precious. I feel I am being cast out of para- 
dise. 

But it is a jolly ship's company. In a day my 
fears are forgotten and I am absorbed in the ad- 
venture ahead. Every one on the steamer has a 
mission. There are some naturalized German- 
Americans, many Swedes and a few Norwegians. 
It is a splendid voyage, with calm seas and smil- 
ing skies. Each day the days grow longer and 
more beautiful. On the tenth day the sun is set- 
ting at 10 p. m. 

Not until that tenth night do we begin to dis- 
cuss the war. We are nearing the north of Scot- 
land, the scene of the disaster to Lord Kitchener 
and his men, and we talk of mines and subma- 
rines. Life preservers are carefully inspected. 
But at break of day English officers board our 
ship and take us safely into Kirkwall harbor. 
Here we lie for two days, while passports, cabins 
and our persons are examined. 

Presently I am summoned before an English 
officer. He holds two cable messages. I reach 
for them eagerly, but he pauses before making de- 
livery. " You '11 have to explain these," he says. 
One from an unduly admiring friend begins 

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THE SCANDINAVIAN CQUNTKIES 

" Brave spirit." TJie other, from my father, tells 
of constant thought. He wired : " Watching 
every night from the hill at sunset." 

This, coupled, with the " Brave spirit " of the 
other cable and the fact that I am going to Ger- 
many, are too much for the English officer. He 
feels sure I mean to torpedo the King of England 
at sunset. Fortunately, the last words of the 
home cable are " Mother preserving." The of- 
ficers mother also puts up jam. His fears relax. 
We have a good laugh. 

There is one trifling excitement during the de- 
tention at Kirkwall. A crowd gathers one after- 
noon at the ship's side. A German stowaway lias 
been discovered. He is being lowered into an 
English boat. There are many little expressions 
of sympathy. They come from the pro-Germans 
and Swedes. A big Swede takes up a collection 
for the prisoner. It is quite evident where Swed- 
ish sympathy lies. 

That night we cross the North Sea. Not many 
of us sleep, but in the morning we are lying off 
the Norwegian coast. There is a dense fog. 
When it lifts our ship is lying between masses of 
rocks so near it seems possible to jump to them 
from the ship's deck. Soon we begin to steam up 

85 



SHOKT KATIONS 

the narrow fjord to Bergen. Each moment the 
shores come in closer and rise higher. The sea 
and sky are a steely blue, the air as clear and 
fresh as on a brilliant winter's day. 

Everywhere the people crowd to the shore to 
wave a greeting. Norway presents a mixture of 
the crude, rugged freshness of America, and the 
finished grandeur of Switzerland. We land at 
Bergen and there take train to Christiania. I 
take three days to make the trip and penetrate 
deep into a fjord and climb to the top of a snow- 
covered mountain. 

There is something almost sinister in the gran- 
deur of the scenery. It is overpowering to the 
uninitiated. It is bound to produce people of 
originality and inner resources. Frequently 
families living deep in one fjord have never 
known what lies on the other side of a towering 
mountain. 

There is no trail. Everywhere on my trip I 
meet young men and women mountain climbing. 
The women, like the men, wear knickerbockers. 
People are on their summer vacations. There is 
no sign of war, nor is there any sign of war in 
Christiania. 

That city, lying among its hills and curving 
86 



THE SCANDINAVIAN COUNTEIES 

water front, might be mistaken at first glance for 
San Francisco and the Golden Gate. But the 
city has the earmarks of age, and romance yet 
lacking in San Francisco. It is a miniature 
Paris. It is full of the spirit of Bohemia. Its 
restaurants abound in good food, gay music and 
interesting people. 

Norway is teeming with originality. It is not 
smooth running and well ordered, but it has 
greatness and force. Hardly a picture or piece 
of sculpture in its gallery of modern art but has 
character and meaning. Much is crude, but all 
expressive of life and virility. One no longer 
wonders that this is the land of Ibsen and Bjorn- 
son. 

Norway is a race of individualists. German 
uniformity, Germany's organization and German 
culture are repellent to every fiber of the Norwe- 
gian being. Norway, the land of viking ships 
and adventurers, could not produce a race of obe- 
dient people. Therefore Norwegian sympathy is 
with France and England, for Norway believes 
these countries stand for freedom, democracy 
and a republican form of government. 

From Christiania I take a sleeper to Goteborg, 
Sweden. When I awake in the morning it is to 

87 



SHOET RATIONS 

find myself in a new land. In my school geog- 
raphy Norway and Sweden seemed one and the 
same. But Goteborg is as alien to Christiania as 
Boston is to New York. This city is smooth run- 
ning and well ordered; no crowd, no bustle, no 
Bohemia. Neatly numbered little blue and white 
cars run in regular circles about the town. The 
atmosphere is that of spotless town, where 
they always use sapolio. It is quaint and charm- 
ing, but not exciting. Sweden, like Germany, is 
well organized. The Swedish and German tem- 
peraments are akin, methodical and thorough, 
with a distaste for the erratic, the erratic which 
so frequently breeds genius. 

In the afternoon I take the train from Gote- 
borg to Copenhagen. It is too late when I reach 
there to form an impression. But I am conscious 
of flying taxis and streams of people. I have 
reached a seething metropolis which makes Chris- 
tiania and Goteborg seem tiny by comparison. 

Copenhagen combines all races. It has canals, 
people with wooden shoes and sturdy Dutch tem- 
perament. It has a few mildly interesting side- 
walk cafes. It has suburban English houses and 
Tommies who go out Sunday with their best girls. 
It has a great beer garden in the center of the 

88 



THE SCANDINAVIAN COUNTRIES 

city, called Tivoli, like the Zoological Garden of 
Berlin. Sundays and evenings Tivoli is crowded 
with bourgeois, whole families, fathers, mothers 
and children who come to enjoy the fun. Beer 
flows, bands play and people pass and repass. 
Denmark absorbs all races and elements. 

But the Danish people, like the Norwegian, are 
heart and soul with the Allies. Not so much be- 
cause of love for England and France as through 
hatred of Germany. Germany has snatched part 
of their land and bitterness is in their hearts. 
They will not willingly assist Germany. All the 
frontier mail is examined, for recently it was 
found thin slabs of butter were being sent to the 
enemy by letter postage. 

Many Danish merchants have made vast for- 
tunes out of German necessity. But these peo- 
ple are held in contempt. In the early days they 
aided in feeding the German army. This they 
did by exporting great cans of prepared meat 
called "goolash." Now these people are nick- 
named the " goolash." They struggle to disguise 
their identity and their nouveau riche condition. 
Old telephone and automobile numbers are in 
great demand and ramshackle old houses are 
bought at exorbitant prices. 

89 



SHOKT KATIONS 

The atmosphere of Copenhagen is distressing. 
It is tense, like a strung bow. It seems to await 
some dire fate, and it reeks with money made 
from dying humanity. Never has the city been 
so prosperous. Three times the ordinary num- 
ber of taxicabs ply the streets. Yet, in spite of 
great business activity, the populace is unset- 
tled, expectant, dreading it knows not what. No- 
where are there worse stories of German atroci- 
ties. These tales sink in. One begins to under- 
stand what the early American settlers must 
have felt with a band of savage red Indians just 
beyond the next ridge. 

Daily I grow more nervous. Fear possesses 
me. It is said that every woman who enters Ger- 
many is subjected to a sickening and disgusting 
personal search, and the tales of hunger and im- 
prisonment, the fate of all foreigners in Ger- 
many, are appalling. Can I carry my task 
through? 

I dine with an American friend. He has be- 
come completely dominated by the atrocity 
stories. He almost orders me home. " America 
forgets," he declares, " that Europe is at war and 
Germany is no place for a woman." 

I cannot sleep. Only pride holds me to my 
90 



THE SCANDINAVIAN COUNTRIES 

purpose. I am told that " The New York Tri- 
bune " is despised in Germany and " The Chicago 
Tribune " tolerated. I destroy all papers except 
my " Chicago Tribune " credentials. I have no 
scruples about this, for I am writing the same 
article for both papers and I am out in search of 
the truth and do not wish to hurt any nation. 

Moreover, I have an errand of mercy in Ger- 
many. " The Christian Work Fund " for starv- 
ing children of the New York Church Peace 
Union has given me f 500 for German war or- 
phans and starving babies, with a promise of 
more later. I clutch this firmly in my hand and 
proceed to the German Embassy at Copenhagen. 

Here I wait all day. Any minute my number 
may be called, so I dare not go out to lunch. 
There is a great crowd of people, all seeking pass- 
ports. Most are turned away. Each day it 
grows more difficult to enter Germany. Finally, 
at 5 o'clock, my turn comes. My credentials are 
entirely satisfactory. My papers are stamped 
and passed without question. It is very reas- 
suring. 

But then began dreary days of waiting. Not 
for four days after my passport is vised can I 
leave Copenhagen. Three of my pictures and all 

91 



SHORT RATIONS 

marks of identification are being sent to the fron- 
tier. It is the waiting that is nerve-racking. 
Meanwhile all Copenhagen seemed bent on tell- 
ing me dire tales of the " Barbara." 

A Norwegian acquaintance who is on her way 
from Holland to Denmark through Germany 
twice sends word she is arriving. Eagerly I 
meet her train, but she never appears. What has 
happened? Is she imprisoned in Germany? 
Then I bethink myself to telegraph a German 
friend and ask her to meet me in Hamburg. In 
one week I sent three telegrams, but received no 
reply. It is very weird. I have the sensation 
that I am hurling myself into unknown space 
where I shall be cut off from all world communi- 
cation. 

Then the food problem troubles me. My Den- 
mark friends urge me to secure government au- 
thorization to carry a small stock of supplies. 
This I do and purchase eight pounds of butter 
and a half yard of sausage. 

Finally, the morning of my departure arrives. 
I and my three bags, my package of butter and 
my half yard of sausage are duly deposited in 
the train. At the last moment comes a wire from 
Germany. Not from my friend, but from a 

92 



THE SCANDINAVIAN COUNTRIES 

friend of my friend. I can only guess why this 
is. Perhaps my friend is in prison. 

The telegram invites me to come to Munich, 
but my ticket and passport are made out for 
Hamburg. It is too late to change. I shall 
know no one in Hamburg. If only I could speak 
German. Speech is a valuable asset. Most 
things can be explained, but I shall be tongue- 
tied. I do not feel at all brave. It is like going 
into battle. I ? m shivering, homesick, and ter- 
ribly excited. 

As the train speeds on its way I study my train 
companions. There are three Chinese students, a 
German merchant, and a woman who says she 
is Swiss. The woman is very friendly. She 
speaks to each of us and asks our mission. She 
has traveled from Switzerland through Germany 
and Denmark to Sweden and is now on her way 
back. This is a trip difficult to make unless one 
has powerful friends. 

She speaks English fluently. Perhaps she is 
working for Germany. Anyway she is very 
friendly, and very appreciative of my desire to 
help German babies. She is on her way to Ham- 
burg. I ask to go with her. If she is a spy I 
could be with no safer companion. It is terrible 

93 



SHOET EATIONS 

to be so suspicious. That is one of the deadly 
features of war — you trust no one. 

As the train speeds on and we reach the Dan- 
ish frontier we see small encampments of sol- 
diers. We are entering Germany by way of 
Warnemude. When we reach the water front 
a German boat is waiting to carry us to the other 
side. It is a trip of about two hours. As we 
cross this tiny piece of the Baltic Sea there are 
no signs of the German fleet. We probably are 
too far from Kiel Bay. 

The German territory on which we land is a 
seashore resort. There is a great stretch of 
beach dotted with sun umbrellas and a few peo- 
ple walking aimlessly about. Somewhere a band 
plays faintly. It is very dreary. Like a pleas- 
ure resort on a rainy day. 

As we land we are conducted into a long 
wooden building. The first great ordeal is about 
to begin. I stick close to my traveling compan- 
ion. She is given No. 50 and I No. 51. My heart 
goes like a triphammer. Suppose they don't pass 
me. My companion is summoned first, but a mo- 
ment later my turn comes. I am shown into an 
inner office. I find myself in the midst of a little 
knot of soldiers. At a desk is an ofiicer asking 

94 



THE SCANDINAVIAN COUNTRIES 

questions and taking answers. I stammer and 
stutter ; the few words of German I know desert 
me. I thrust out my papers desperately. These 
have been translated into German. Their con- 
tents are magical. That money for suffering 
babies softens German hearts. An officer who 
speaks English addresses me. 

" Where are you going? " A. — To Hamburg. 

" Where do you expect to stay? " A. — I 
don't know ; I 'm traveling with a. friend. 

" What is your friend's name? " At last I am 
caught. I grow very red. I realize I have never 
asked my companion's name. 

The German officers gaze at me stolidly, wait- 
ing an answer. Finally I blurt out : "I don't 
know her name, but she 's No. 50." 

Carefully they consult their list. It is as I 
guessed. No. 50 ' is eminently satisfactory. 
With utmost courtesy my passport is vise and my 
luggage stamped and passed unopened. I am 
the first to leave the little building. The only 
article that troubles the English-speaking officer 
is a box of American crackers. 

" You 'd better conceal those or it may cause 
jealousy that we let you keep them. We have 
made an exception in your case." There isn't 

95 



SHOKT RATIONS 

an inch of room in my bag, so I reply : " I '11 
throw them away/' and raise my hand to do so. 
" Oh, don't do that ! " The command comes so 
quickly and earnestly that in a flash I realize 
every speck of food in Germany is prized. So 
I board the train with crackers, butter, dangling 
sausage and unopened baggage. 

It is nearly two hours before the other passen- 
gers are released. To travel in wartime requires 
patience. Many of the women have flushed 
faces. It is evident their examination has not 
been agreeable. No. 50 arrives shortly. She, 
too, is flushed. She says she has recently had 
an operation and wears a support. This sur- 
gical harness she was obliged to remove for in- 
spection. Why this is if, as I suspect, she is 
known to the German government I do not know. 
Anyway, I have been lucky. My papers are 
good. 

All this time the train has been standing in a 
long, wooden railroad shed. There has been 
nothing to see. As we pull out my eyes sweep the 
country. There are no trenches and no body of 
soldiers. To the casual observer it looks as if 
the Danes could walk straight into Germany. 

As we speed through the country we pass great 
96 



THE SCANDINAVIAN COUNTRIES 

stretches of flat, barren, uninteresting pasture 
land. Here and there are herds of cows. My 
companion informs me we are passing through 
the dairy district. Once my companion grabs 
my arm excitedly to point to a field of wheat 
(white flour) . There is a dining car on the train. 
It has been said that through trains furnish good 
meals and so deceive traveling foreigners as to 
internal conditions. 

This dinner is fourth rate, with a fourth rate 
service — a total change from the well run din- 
ing car of a year ago. There is soup, fish, a tiny 
slab of meat, vegetables and a pudding. The 
quantity is small and the quality poor and the 
preparation atrocious. The latter defect is not 
the fault of the cook. It is due to lack of fat, 
lack of sugar, lack of seasoning. It has all been 
boiled and is tasteless. It reminds me of prison 
fare. The pudding cannot be eaten. It is a 
gray mass and tastes like bran. It is without 
sweetening. A soldier manfully eating his sees 
me in the act of swallowing my first mouthful. 
He grins a sardonic grin. It is practically the 
only smile I see in all Prussia. 

In three hours we reach Hamburg. If there 
had been a carriage or taxi at the station it had 

97 



SHORT RATIONS 

gone when we reached the entrance. We eventu- 
ally secure an aged porter to carry our luggage to 
the Reichshof Hotel across the way. The sta- 
tion is full of soldiers, pale-faced, worried and 
silent. They are lining up to take night trains 
for the front. 

At the hotel my companion and I secure ad- 
jacent single rooms. It is a great relief to have 
her German tongue at my service. I don't open 
my mouth. The Reichshof is perhaps a second 
rate or third rate hotel, but I have a perfectly 
appointed room, with hot and cold running water 
for 3 marks 50 pfennigs a day (about 90 cents). 
German hotel men have resolutely kept hotels 
open at great loss and have not raised room 
rates. 

I am too much excited to go to bed, and suggest 
a walk. Through silent, deserted streets my 
companion and I make our way. We come to 
the great sheet of water in the center of Ham- 
burg. At intervals bright lights from a cafe 
send their shimmering rays flashing and dancing 
across the water. But all is silent and still as 
though some great calamity were upon the city. 

We enter the cafe. It is a huge place and has 
hundreds of little tables. Only two are occu- 

98 



THE SCANDINAVIAN COUNTRIES 

pied — one by a group all in mourning. The 
brilliance of the place exaggerates its big empti- 
ness. We sit down and order coffee. Presently 
two cups of steaming black liquid are served. 
There is no sugar and no milk. My companion 
calls a waiter. " You ? ve forgotten the milk and 
sugar." The waiter bows politely. " No, 
madam," says he. " We have recently been ver- 
boten to serve either milk or sugar." 

We drink our coffee in silence. It is coffee 
" ersatz," which means coffee mixed with a sub- 
stitute. A lump rises in my throat. I see the 
tired, worried soldiers with their lean faces. I 
looked at the little group in mourning across 
the way. I taste my undrinkable coffee. 

Already the suffering of the people has sunk 
deep ; an aching pity seizes me. I do not stop to 
reason whose fault it is. Whether the German 
government is not the chief culprit for the state 
of affairs, I only know mankind is being hurt, is 
being punished. To crush people makes them 
ugly. 

" This has got to stop," I whisper to my com- 
panion, and she nods. 



99 



CHAPTER II 

HAMBURG UNDER THE HAND OF DEATH 

August 10th. 

I AWOKE to find myself in Germany. I 
sprang from bed and crept to the window. 
Beneath lay an empty courtyard — quiet, still, 
no sign of life. I press the electric button and 
order breakfast. A pale, worried little man ar- 
rives with a tray. There is the same undrink- 
able coffee of the night before, a tiny drop of blue 
watery-milk in a doll's pitcher no bigger than 
my thumb, no sugar, some black, sour, uneatable 
bread, and a small saucer of marmalade. Irri- 
tation seizes me. How can I spend weeks in 
Germany without proper food? I remember my 
box of American crackers, and the Danish butter 
and sausage reposing in the hotel refrigerator. 
But I have the decency not to send for them. I 
have at most some weeks of discomfort, the Ger- 
man people months of patient suffering. The 
Danish food shall go to a German friend. By 
the time I am dressed, my traveling companion, 

100 



UNDER THE HAND OF DEATH 

No. 50, has joined me. We decide to make a tour 
of the city. It is a gray, sunless day. The 
weather increases the gloom of the city. Only 
a few people are upon the street; old people or 
very young people and tiny children. But occa- 
sionally we pass a silent, dejected group lined up 
before a meat shop. It is a meat day. Working 
women with babies in their arms, or tiny chil- 
dren carrying baskets, or old decrepit men and 
women clutching a Government meat card, pa- 
tiently wait their turn. The shop door flies open, 
three or four are admitted, and a miserable half- 
pound of meat portioned out. 

Except for these food purchasers, the city 
seems actionless. We enter a book shop and ask 
for a map. But to sell a plan of Hamburg is 
verhoten. So many things are verboten. Per- 
haps that accounts for the inactivity. Store win- 
dows present a fine display, but inside the shop 
is silent and empty. 

Even in the business section there is little life. 
We find a small boat that makes a three hours' 
trip about the harbor, and take it. The great 
wharves are peopleless, no hurrying men, no 
swinging derricks, no smoke issuing from smoke- 
stacks or funnels. In the docks lie big and little 

101 



SHOKT EATIONS 

boats, rusty, paintless, deserted. Tlie great 
Imperator, like a towering monster, commands 
the center. The paint is peeling from its sides. 
Its brass is dull, some dirty stained blankets flap 
on an upper deck. Like a thing alive it seems 
stricken with plague. Its* proud title Imperator 
is gone, and in its place is the word Cap Polonia. 
Except for our tug and two others, no vessels 
move upon the water. There are no whistles, no 
chug-chug and swish of passing boats, no vibrant 
thrilling life. Hamburg is a city of sleepers. 
Its big hotels, its many stores, its impressive 
buildings stretch out endlessly, but within all is 
still. All that modern industry and the in- 
genuity of man can achieve has here been flung 
upon the land, and then the force that created it 
has vanished, leaving these great monuments to 
rot, to rust, and to crumble. The tragedy of un- 
used treasures is as horrible as rows of dead. A 
city seems visibly dying. 

Faint from want of food, we leave the boat to 
seek a restaurant. We find one directly oppo- 
site the Hamburg-American docks, on the hill- 
side. We seat ourselves on the outdoor porch 
which commands the harbor. As we do so, we 
notice a long line of women and children filing 

102 



UNDER THE HAND OF DEATH 

into the big Hamburg-American buildings. 
Each bears a pail. When they emerge it is with 
steaming contents. The docks have been turned 
into big feeding kitchens. When the women 
leave, a whistle blows. Then from every direc- 
tion come old men and young boys. They come 
running, hopping, jumping, each striving to be 
first, driven by hunger, or by fear that the last 
may have nothing. The police keep them in or- 
der. They file into the big building to eat. 

The meal furnished us is scanty, but after this 
scene it seems bountiful. There is soup, fish, 
meat, vegetables, fruit, and cheese. The bread 
and meat are to be had only with cards. Like 
the day before, the food is watery and tasteless. 
It is such food as is served in institutions. 
Prison diet does not promote health or strength. 
One can live on it, but patriotism and temper 
suffer. I discovered there are two kinds of bread, 
one a small roll, its substance only slightly dark. 
This is very eatable, and quite different from the 
ordinary black bread. Six of these small rolls 
can be had on a daily bread card. This bread, 
with a piece of Swiss cheese, do much to restore 
me to cheerfulness. 

When we have finished, No. 50 suggests a trip 
103 



SHORT RATIONS 

to the Bismarck Denkmal. She is an ardent ad- 
mirer of Bismarck and all German officials. It 
is only a short walk to the Denkmal. It is situ- 
ated on a small hill, and the gigantic figure is 
further elevated by a high pedestal, till it towers 
over the city. 

There is something sinister in the figure. It 
is clad in armor, and leans on a gigantic sword. 
It seems to say " no force in the world shall de- 
ter me; I conquer all." Yet there is weakness 
behind the strength. As a work of art it is a 
failure. It is made of square cut stone, placed 
on square cut stone. This endless multiplicity 
of exactly similar stones, well ordered and ar- 
ranged, has the effect of massive greatness. But 
it is a greatness built from the outside. Be- 
neath is no inspired central vein of strength. 

It is different with French sculpture. Rodin's 
figures, for instance, personify power. The 
power that arises from depicting the fire, energy, 
and originality of the human soul. But my 
companion is enthralled. This massive great- 
ness of arrangements means to her strength. 

" Is n't it wonderful? " she breathes. " If 
only he were alive, how different it would be! 
Germany would conquer all." 

104 




iir i t 




THE BISMARCK DENKMAL 
At the Foot of This Statue a Mother Was Selling- Her Child 



UNDER THE HAND OF DEATH 

The words have hardly left her lips when we 
hear voices. A crowd of children is gathering 
just below. School is out, and they are sur- 
rounding an object of interest. One or two 
women join them. There is no passing populace 
to swell the throng. We approach and see in the 
center of the crowd of children a woman crouched 
upon a bench. She is dirty, ragged, and dark 
in coloring. She may be Armenian or Italian. 
On the ground at her feet is a baby just big 
enough to walk. It also is dirty, and possesses 
only one ragged garment. The mother sits 
listless, gazing at her child. It is evident she is 
soon to be a mother again. There is great chat- 
tering among the children. I turn to my com- 
panion for explanation. 

" The woman wants to sell her child. She 
says she has n't anything to eat. She is n't a 
German mother. Of course, no German mother 
would do such a thing. You can see she isn't 
good. She is going to have another baby." 

A school-child gives the toddling baby some 
cherries. She eats them greedily. My hand goes 
to my pocket-book, but my companion pulls me 
away. If I bought the baby, what could I do 
with her on a trip through Germany? 

107 



SHORT RATIONS 

Then my eyes rests on the Bismarck Denkmal. 
I gaze at that massive, methodical, stolid war god 
at whose feet this human tragedy is being en- 
acted. Rage seizes me, and a brilliant and crazy 
idea comes. Why not blow up the military 
Denkmals as a way of freeing Germany from the 
war bug? The Allies are stupidly making 
women and children suffer, while the military 
class and militarism flourish. What is wanted 
is a bomb for each Bismarckian and royal Denk- 
mal. 

From the Denkmal we go to the residential 
quarter. We try to get a taxi, but there is none. 
I saw just three during that day. It has grown 
to be tea-time. After a short walk, we enter a 
popular cafe. Here at last is a large group of 
people. There are many well-dressed women, 
retired officers or officers home on leave, and 
some slightly wounded soldiers. The tables in 
the big building or scattered about on the side- 
walk are all occupied. A band is playing gay 
music. On the surface all looks well. But a 
line of Whitman flashes through my mind: — 

Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death 
under the breast-bones, hell under the skull-bones. 

108 



UNDER THE HAND OF DEATH 

There is no chatter and no laughter. The 
faces are lined with sadness. Except among 
the women, there is no youth. All are shrunken, 
listless, distraught Coffee " Ersatz " (coffee 
mixed with a substitute) , and tea " Ersatz " is be- 
ing served. There is no milk and no sugar. The 
few cakes are made of an unknown substance. I 
try one, but cannot swallow it. Only the music 
is cheerful. There is a revival of band-playing 
in Germany. It is needed to hide the lack of 
laughter and talk. 

There are but two topics of conversation — 
war and food shortage. There is nothing else to 
discuss, for there is little business, no trade, no 
reforms, no scientific discoveries, no creative 
work. Life has become mere existence — a 
prison existence. Mind and bodies are shrink- 
ing from a shortage of intellectual and physical 
nourishment. 

This first day in Germany is the worst. Fresh 
from war-free countries, the impression is vivid. 
After a little I become adjusted. All who live in 
Germany get adjusted. The changes have come 
gradually. One month sugar stops. When 
this is an old story, then one must learn to do 
without milk. Herr Smyth fails one week, and 

109 



SHORT RATIONS 

Herr Bauer weeks later. This slow decline 
blinds Germany to what is really occurring. 
But the total, seen by a stranger, is appalling. 

Across the street from the cafe is a little cir- 
cular space with benches. On a bench is seated 
a tragic, well-dressed mother in deep mourning. 
Her child plays beside her, innocently happy. 
He climbs up and down, and finally knocks a 
paper bag from the bench. A roll tumbles into 
the dust and darts under the bench, covering it- 
self with dirt. The mother picks it up, carefully 
brushes it, and gives it to the child, who eats 
eagerly. Everywhere are similar pathetic inci- 
dents. 

My spirits sink lower and lower. " Look 
here," I say firmly to my companion, " I 've got 
to have a square meal. We are going to the best 
and most expensive hotel in town." 

That evening we dine at the Atlantic, and have 
a meal that is satisfying. By a skilful use of 
wine, salt, and some stray scraps of fat, the 
table de'hote dinner is equal to that of a second- 
rate American hotel. The slice of meat served is 
no bigger than my hand, brown and juiceless, but 
the soup, fish, vegetables, and dessert would pass 
muster anywhere. 

110 



UNDER THE HAND OF DEATH 

It seems cruel to eat of Germany's best, but 
henceforth I decided to live at the most expensive 
hotels. 

That night a picture flashed before me, It is 
the vision of a big unoccupied building. In 
large black letters upon its front is the inscrip- 
tion: "English Reform Church/' and in its 
gaping windows are plastered, printed signs read- 
ing: " Zv, vermieten" (To Let). No wonder 
God's buildings are to let. God, the Spirit of 
Love, must have difficulty finding any place to 
rest these days. 

Next morning my companion and I separate. 
She starts for Switzerland, and I for Berlin. 
My inability to speak German is disconcerting. 
I manage to get on the train, but in the dining- 
car I am helpless. I content myself with tea, 
bread, and cheese, the only words I know. In 
the compartment with me is an attractive young 
woman and her husband. They offer me maga- 
zines and papers. I summon up courage to say : 
" Ich Jcann nicht Deutsch sprechen" and show 
them my credentials. The young woman is im- 
mediately interested. She speaks to me in ex- 
cellent English. 

In May, 1915, I spent ten days in Berlin. 
Ill 



SHOKT RATIONS 

Then English could not be spoken with comfort. 
Flushed faces and angry looks were the result. 
To-day English is tolerated. Occasionally, eyes 
follow me questioningly ; the official class resent 
it, but the people are always friendly. A year 
ago there was bitter hatred of America. " Ameri- 
can bullets " were flung in one's face everywhere. 
To-day the average person is pathetically eager 
to be friends. Slowly the people are awakening. 
For months the newspapers have fed them on the 
triumphs of Germany and the perfidy of other 
nations. But these stories of glorious German 
victories have resulted in — what? A lean and 
barren country, under-nourishment, death, the 
hatred of other nations. The people begin to 
doubt their leaders. 

To call these people " barbars " is an outrage. 
They are like ourselves, just folks, kindly and 
generous; deceived and brow-beaten by a ruth- 
less military group. 

The young woman in the railway carriage be- 
longs to the well-to-do bourgeoisie. She is eager 
to talk. " Why," she asks, " does the world think 
we 're beaten when we have soldiers in Belgium 
and France? " Often this question is asked. 

Boasting no longer exists. Instead comes the 
112 



UNDER THE HAND OF DEATH 

plaintive query : " Why are we beaten, and why 
must we suffer? " 

We gaze out of the window as the train speeds 
on. We pass great stretches of desolate, barren, 
juiceless land. It is sandy and difficult to culti- 
vate. It is the worst portion of Germany. A 
tear is in my companion's eye. "We have got 
to have food," she avers, and then a moment 
later: "Oh! why can't we have peace?" 

It is early afternoon when we reach Berlin. I 
leave the train slowly. When I reach the station 
entrance the taxis and carriages are all taken. 
An aged porter with a push-cart volunteers to 
conduct me to the Adlon. It is Sunday. I fol- 
low the push-cart through the silent streets, but 
as we pass the Thiergarten a great throng of peo- 
ple is visible. They flow in and out about the 
Hindenburg Denkmal. That figure is made of 
wood and covered with nails. You pay a small 
sum, and hammer in a nail. In this manner 
patriotism and Hindenburg devotion are in- 
culcated, and the Government gets the money. 

If ever there were a systematic smashing of 
Denkmals, it would create a busy day for Berlin. 
There are so many of them. The Thiergarten 
strasse is lined with ugly monstrosities of roy- 

113 



SHORT RATIONS 

alty. Many figures are portraits of English 
nobility who intermarried with Germans. Evi- 
dently, whatever comes to Germany becomes Ger- 
man, for all are decorated with wreaths and 
flowers. 

But the Sunday crowd that moves about the 
Thiergarten is not happy. As in Hamburg and 
elsewhere, the men are old or very young, except 
for the sprinkling of lean, pale, nerve-racked sol- 
diers. 

But Berlin has more life than Hamburg. 

It is the busiest spot in Germany. It and the 
munition districts are the centers of activity. 
Berlin is more active than it was a year ago. 
Then action seemed suspended. The city was 
crowded, but idle. The populace was too tense, 
excited, and grim to work. It moved restlessly 
upon the streets, waiting a glorious victory. 
The future was ignored. A long war was not 
dreamt of. There was a shortage of fodder, so 
thousands of cows were killed. This lack of 
foresight meant in time a shortage of milk and 
butter. Germany was too sure of triumph to 
think in terms of years. 

But now conditions have changed. The as- 
surance and arrogance have vanished. In their 

114 



UNDER THE HAND OF DEATH 

place is a dull resignation. All life is centered 
on mere existence. The wounded who have 
come back have gone to work. Wagons carrying 
supplies and old patched taxis returned from the 
front move upon the streets. The necessities of 
life must be had. Berlin, the seat of govern- 
ment, must secure them. 

So on the surface there is bustle and action, 
and life somewhat resembles the normal. But it 
is a queer, limited, down-at-the-heel activity. 
People are upon the streets, but the stores are 
nearly empty. There is a shortage of things to 
buy. The very rich still purchase, but cheap 
things are only to be had with Government 
cards. 

That is the tragedy of Germany — the sore 
spot that festers. The pinch has come, and the 
rich protect themselves at the expense of the 
poor. 

At the Adlon and other great hotels one suf- 
fers little. There is no sugar, but saccharine is 
served, saccharine which ordinarily can only be 
had by a doctor's order. It is true the allowance 
of meat, bread, and butter per person is the same. 
At the Adlon, butter is furnished on Tuesday 
and Friday, the two meatless days. For break- 

115 



SHOET RATIONS 

fast one received a pat no larger than a big straw- 
berry, and that is all. But the meat problem 
hardly touches the rich. Chickens, ducks, and 
birds are not called meat. They are to be had at 
high prices. On meatless days they are always 
served at the Adlon. The fat from these birds to 
an extent makes up for the lack of butter. More- 
over, the poor frequently have no money for meat 
or butter, and their allowance is purchased by 
the rich. 

It is marvelous with what ingenuity the big 
hotels conceal deficiencies. That is why visitors 
and reporters fail to see the underlying truth. 

Duck is served the night of my arrival. The 
table d'hote dinner is $1.75. I eat every scrap. 
It is not enough for a hungry man, but for me it 
is satisfying. As I rise from the table I say to 
the waiter : " That is as good a dinner as I ever 
ate.' 7 He smiles broadly, greatly pleased. 

But I go to bed tormented by the lean and 
shrunken people I have seen. It is foolish to 
starve out Germany. This procedure does not 
hurt the governing classes and the rich. They 
will not suffer until the rest of Germany is dead. 
Starvation kills off the poor, but leaves the mili- 
tarists intact. This is not the way to crush 

116 



UNDER THE HAND OF DEATH 

militarism. It cannot be done by pressure from 
the outside. Regeneration always comes from 
within. Revolution or evolution — not smash- 
ing — is what is needed. 



117 



CHAPTER III 

LIFE IN BERLIN 

August 12th to 26th. 
SNUGGLE down into my luxurious bed. I 
look about my room with pleasure. Every 
tiny comfort is provided for. The silk draper- 
ies, the linen sheets, the silk eiderdown bed- 
spread, all tell of Germany's former luxury. 
War and poverty exist outside, but here all is 
comfort. I am loath to rise. Even breakfast is 
reassuring. There is coffee, saccharine, and a 
tiny drop of milk, two rolls, no butter, but some 
delicious jam. It is last year's jam. This 
year's has little sugar. 

As I start to leave the hotel I pause in the en- 
trance to gaze up and down the famous street 
Unter den Linden. Thin streams of people are 
passing and repassing. It is Monday, but the 
atmosphere is that of Sunday. German week- 
days now are all like Sunday. A little group of 
people is pressed against a big glass window. 

118 



LIFE IN BERLIN 

Here the latest war bulletins are posted. Peo- 
ple always assemble at two spots — war bulle- 
tins and food shops. It is uncanny to see tragic 
eyes gazing into pastry shops and fruit stores. 
Meat is not displayed. I wondered why the but- 
ter and cheese stores were ignored. I tried gaz- 
ing in one. They put up such a good appearance 
with their shining tinfoil packages. Then I dis- 
covered the reason. The packages are fake. 
Each holds a block of wood. There is no butter 
or cheese in window or shop. Twice a week a 
tiny supply arrives to be distributed to the 
bearers of cards, that is all. 

As I start to leave the hotel a clerk detains me : 
" You must go at once to the police," he says. 
This is my first police visit. I did not go in 
Hamburg. Nothing was said about it. This 
looks more than ever as though my companion of 
the train was known in Germany, and that while 
with her in Hamburg I was exempt. The police 
are friendly. I have no difficulty, but I am told 
to report again the day before leaving Berlin. 
My police visits, in themselves, make a story. At 
each new city you must call on these officials. 
These gentlemen vary in their interest. Some- 
times they want your life history, at others ten 

119 



SHORT EATIONS 

minutes suffices. The visit of departure is al- 
ways more trying than that of arrival. Then 
you must state where you are going, to what 
hotel, and what your plans are. There is no 
chance for elopements. A single lady is per- 
fectly chaperoned. 

From the police I proceed to the American 
Embassy. American Embassies in war-time are 
discouraging places. Their attitude usually is, 
" Why are you here? You '11 only make us 
trouble. You 'd better go straight home." 
However, I have a young friend in the Embassy. 
I impress upon him the fact that I am not going 
home. " I shall," I declare, " visit the police 
regularly, break no rules, cause no trouble, but 
I 'in in search of the truth, and as a free Ameri- 
can citizen I mean to talk to every one I can from 
the Kaiser to Liebknecht." He thinks the 
Kaiser safer than Liebknecht. " You '11 be 
watched every moment," he says, "and the au- 
thorities won't let you see anything they don't 
want you to." 

As I leave the Embassy I hesitate. The idea 
of spies is disconcerting. The first person I 
want to visit is a woman who is a member of 
the Social Democratic party. My errand is 

120 



LIFE IN BERLIN 

harmless ; she speaks English, and I want her to 
act as interpreter, and teach me German. I pur- 
sue a zig-zag course, and having doubled on my 
tracks, take a taxi to her home. 

On this occasion I elude pursuit, but to do so 
continuously is impossible. The funny thing 
about German spies is that they dress for the 
part. They are as unmistakable as Sherlock 
Holmes. They nearly always wear gray clothes, 
a soft gray hat, are pale-faced, shifty-eyed, 
smooth-shaven, or have only a slight moustache, 
and carry canes. 

One night my friend and I led them a chase 
about the city until midnight. We jumped 
from one car to another. It proved an exciting 
game. Once we went up to a gray-clad man, and 
asked him if he was n't tired. But spies grow 
angry when spoken to. German officials have no 
sense of humor. If they had, I wonder if there 
would have been a war. 

I feel very sorry for one spy. He stands on 
the street corner in the rain one day from three 
in the afternoon until nine in the evening. I go 
out periodically to see if he is there. I simply 
cannot take him seriously. My friend and I get 
into gales of laughter. I want to go out and in- 

121 



SHOKT RATIONS 

vite him in to tea. He looks so miserable. But 
he would never understand. My friend lives in 
an apartment house. He probably still does n't 
know who it is I visit. I insist on relieving his 
mind. I get my friend to walk with me to the 
Adlon, so she can be exhibited. She thinks it is 
dangerous, but we are doing no harm, and surely 
one cannot be arrested for talking to a Social 
Democrat! My friend's husband goes ahead to 
see what fate befalls us. He sits on a bench un- 
der a big tree directly opposite the hotel en- 
trance. 

Sure enough there is a gray-clad spy talking 
to the hotel porter. As my friend and I ap- 
proach, the porter jerks the spy's arm. " Here 
she comes," he says. It is terribly exciting. I 
feel as important as a heroine in a dime novel. 
I am almost tempted to enter into some plot. 
It must be so disappointing to these gentlemen 
to find me vibrating between the German Red 
Cross, the poor, and plans for feeding German 
babies. 

But before I leave Germany the spies get on 
my nerves. What was at first amusing becomes 
a nuisance. I feel exactly as though I am in 
prison. I acquire the habit of looking out of 

122 



LIFE IN BEKLIN 

the corner of my eye and over my shoulder. 
These spies are as annoying to their countrymen 
as to me. The people detest them. They grow 
restless under such suppression. Free conversa- 
tion is impossible, except behind closed doors. 
Between German spies and the spies of other 
countries supposed to be at large, public con- 
versation is at a standstill. Everywhere are 
signs — " Soldaten" — "Vorsicht bei gesprochen 
Spionengefahr" 

For several days I wander about Berlin letting 
impressions sink in. There is, as I have said, 
activity, but it is the activity of a bygone day or 
a country town. Nowhere are there shining new 
taxis, prancing horses, and laughing people. 

The taxis are the refuse from the front. They 
toss and bump you about. The carriages have 
been resurrected from the past. The horses are 
chiefly valuable as a study in bone anatomy. 
Poor things ! I often gazed in their dinner pails. 
They never had anything but chopped straw. 

As for the people, there is a somber grayness 
about them. They, too, are thin. I didn't see 
a big girth anywhere. Germany is stomachless. 
It is n't that people have nothing to eat, but they 
have too little. The food they have isn't the 

123 



SHORT RATIONS 

right kind. During the summer there seemed to 
be plenty of vegetables, fruit, and a fair supply 
of black bread, but this without grease, sugar, or 
meal does not satisfy digestion. It 's like trying 
to run a wagon without oil. It begins to creak. 
The German race begins to creak. As a whole, 
it is pale, thin, and sunken-eyed. Sooner or later 
a crisis is inevitable. Whether when it comes it 
will be a uniting of the people with the von Tir- 
pitz group in ugly retaliation, or an internal 
awakening and evolution, depends on the atti- 
tude of the neutrals and the Allies. The sol- 
diers as well as the civil population suffer. The 
front line trenches may be well fed, but the men 
home on leave or in barracks are noticeably thin. 
They are pale, weary, and without life. They 
also have no stomachs. There is a popular say- 
ing among them ; it goes as follows : — 

Dorrgemiise, 
Trocken Brot, 
Marrnelade, 
Heldentod. 

which translated reads: Dried vegetables, dry 
bread, marmalade, and a hero's death. Soldiers 
are everywhere in Berlin. They are always com- 
ing and going. The cripples are not allowed 

124 



LIFE IN BERLIN 

upon the streets, but nervous wrecks are plenti- 
ful. 

In spite of the concealment of the wounded, 
the population begins to understand its loss. 
One night I went to the station to see a big de- 
tachment leave for Wilma. They had all been 
in war before. Their uniforms were dirty and 
patched. They sat on benches clinging to a loved 
one's hand, or stood in listless groups. No one 
talked. They were like tired children. They 
needed food and bed. The scenes of farewell 
were harrowing. 

Here was a young boy saying good-by to a 
mother and three aunts. He was all they had — 
their whole life. Here a father saying farewell 
to a wife and three sons, all under seventeen. 
Or a mother in deep mourning taking leave of 
her last son, or a young wife with a baby in her 
arms giving a last embrace. 

As the train moved out of the station there 
were no shouts, no cheers, no words of encour- 
agement. Instead there was a deadly silence. 
The men leaned out of windows, stretching de- 
spairing hands towards loved ones. As the train 
pulled away the little groups broke into strang- 
ling sobs. They were shaken as by a mighty 

127 



SHORT RATIONS 

tempest. Paroxysms of grief rent and tore them. 
They knew the end had come. A man may go 
once into battle and return, but not twice and 
thrice. Life held no hope. As I came away I 
stopped before the big building which conducts 
military affairs. It is known as the " House of 
Sorrow." On its rear wall is posted the list of 
dead and wounded. 

The night was dark and still ; by the rays of an 
electric arc a few stragglers were running anx- 
ious fingers down the long lists. I stopped to 
count the number. The report covered five days' 
casualties (from August 17th to August 21st). 
Through mistakes names are occasionally re- 
peated. I dropped out several thousand to al- 
low for repetitions. Even then the total of dead, 
wounded, or missing was 44,000 — a city wiped 
out in five days. The Socialists estimate that 
two and a half to three million men in Prussia 
have been killed, wounded, or are missing. No 
wonder the soldiers are desperate. 

When the men march to the station on the way 
to the front, bands play gay national airs to hide 
the depression. But music cannot cheer — the 
populace stands silent on the sidewalk. Occa- 
sionally a tear trickles down a cheek. The sol- 

128 



LIFE IN BERLIN 

diers keep eyes front, faces set and rigid. There 
are no comforting smiles, no cheers, no waving 
hands. 

One evening at midnight as I cross the Thier- 
garten I pass a small procession of new recruits. 
Midnight, mj friend tells me, is the favorite hour 
for seizing fresh food for cannon. There is some- 
thing sinister in choosing dark hours, when the 
city sleeps, for this deed. On this occasion the 
recruits number a hundred or two. Their ages 
vary. They might be fathers and sons. 

Such is the fate of the men, nor is life any 
better for the women. They are to be seen every- 
where. In the streets digging and cleaning 
sewers. On the road with pick-ax and shovel, 
helping Russian prisoners relay railroad tracks. 
In the subways, clad in bloomers, acting as train 
starters. On the trams, wearing husband's mo- 
tor cap and coat. At night they come home to 
hungry children and empty larders. Their tiny 
savings go for bread and potatoes. The day 
laborers cannot frequent city feeding kitchens. 
They cannot afford it. Berlin prepared to feed 
35,000. Last winter 13,000 ate at the kitchens. 
In summer the number decreased to 8000. The 
meal served is a pint bowl of food, which is a 

129 



SHORT RATIONS 

cross between soup and stew. It contains pota- 
toes, barley, rye, vegetables, or anything to be 
had, and on the meat days some odds-and-ends 
of meat. A bowl-ful is 10 cents, a half-bowl 6 
cents. A mother earning 40 to 60 cents a day 
cannot pay 10 cents a head for food. It is the 
bourgeois class that patronize the kitchens. 

I visited these feeding stations. A large cen- 
tral market turned into a kitchen prepares the 
food. Here are big vats — in which the food is 
steamed or boiled in bulk. From here the cooked 
product is sent to feeding stations in different 
localities. Women of means preside over these 
places, and conduct them well. The stewed 
mass is usually very eatable. 

Such places are a Godsend to the middle class, 
the small store-keepers, whose business has 
failed, clerks, and stenographers, but for the un- 
skilled laborer the price is prohibitive. These 
places do not accommodate many at a time, for 
people come and go. At noon I watched a little 
stream move in and out. They were all comfort- 
ably dressed. They paused to have their cards 
punched — potatoes, bread, meat, flour, accord- 
ing to what that day's bowl contained. 

As I looked my eye was caught by two small 
130 



LIFE IN BERLIN 

children. They had crept in the big door and 
sat on a bench side by side, hand in hand. The 
elder, a boy of eleven, was clad in ragged, dirty 
coat and trousers. His face was streaked with 
dirt, save for spots here and there cleansed by 
falling tears. A small sister of five snuggled 
up to him. She too possessed only a boy's 
ragged, dirty coat and trousers. Her face was 
smudged with black, but it was rounder, with 
more color than the boy's. Her baby eyes were 
a shining blue. She seemed to rest serene in her 
brother's care. It was evident the lad was fight- 
ing manfully for his little sister. The boy's 
face was pinched and blue and lined with an- 
guish. 

I called the attention of the women workers to 
the children. " They are probably waiting for 
scraps of food. We '11 give them something by 
and by," I was told. " But," I protested, " those 
children are suffering." 

With the aid of a friendly policeman I got their 
story. These were their answers. " Hungry — 
terribly hungry. Mother dead ; father in the war ; 
had no home, slept anywhere; ate anything." 
I dropped some money in the boy's hand. 
His little claw-like fingers snatched eagerly 

131 



SHORT RATIONS 

at mine. I can feel their touch yet. Then he 
slid from the bench, and started for the door. 
But by this time the women workers had joined 
me. " Go, get in line, and you can have some 
food," they ordered. The boy hid his money be- 
neath his coat, and ran at full speed toward the 
steaming food. Behind him came the tiny sister, 
her naked baby feet flying after his, her tiny baby 
hand clutching the end of his ragged jacket. I 
turned away ; I could n't bear to see them eat. 
God pity us ; why must such suffering be? Prob- 
ably there are as many children in New York 
and London without any food as in Berlin. The 
tragedy of Germany is not quick starvation for a 
few; it is the under-feeding of a whole race. 
Mothers and babies are gradually going down 
hill. 

Everywhere the signs of decline are manifest. 
In the windows of houses, on the front of empty 
stores, are great signs : " Zu Vermieten " ( To 
Let). For years merchants have been fighting 
for vacancies on the big thoroughfares of popu- 
lar Berlin. Now they are to be had everywhere. 
In the stations and amusement-halls stand 
empty chocolate slots. So long have they been 
empty that children are no longer beguiled into 

132 



LIFE IN BERLIN 

dropping in a penny in the hope of extracting 
something. 

One Sunday I went to the Zoological Garden, 
the popular resort of the masses. A band or 
two still played, but the grounds were not half- 
filled. Everywhere were vacant tables, where 
formerly it was a privilege to secure one. Little 
family groups in black sat silently before a 
lonely glass of beer. Sandwiches were a rarity. 
The ices seemed to be made of colored frozen 
perfumes, and were distressing internally. 

In the iron cages there were a few animals. 
Whether they have decreased in number I can- 
not tell. But they, like the people, suffer from 
a scanty diet. The monkeys have grown con- 
tentious. Their tempers suffer. They raised a 
most terrific racket, and continually bit and 
clawed and fought each other. Ironic laughter 
seized me. They were so human. I fell to won- 
dering whether mankind was copying them or 
they mankind. 

The two or three lions in the outdoor cages 
were lean and restless. They crouched and 
growled or paced feverishly up and down. There 
was none of the lazy indifference seen in fat cir- 
cus-fed animals. 

133 



SHORT RATIONS 

In a flash they revealed the change in Ger- 
many. Before the war, under a benevolent pa- 
ternalism, the people grew round of girth. Re- 
plete with good food and flowing beer, feet and 
brains lagged. It is hard to be discontented 
and progressive when the stomach is full and 
the land flows with milk and honey. But with 
suffering a new race is emerging — a lean race 
with active minds that begins to question Ger- 
man autocracy and militarism. 

As I left the Zoological Garden a small boy 
passed me. In loud tones, boastfully and with 
unction, he declared to two enwrapped, envious 
listeners: "And I had a piece of fat for din- 
ner," raising his fingers to measure, " it was so 
big, and juicy." 

To an observant person three things are every- 
where in evidence, telling an unmistakable story. 
The flat stomachs, the endless signs, " To Let," 
and the empty chocolate slots. The German 
race is surely sliding down hill. What shall 
the world do? Shall it stand idly by, or shall 
it stretch out a hand of sympathy and under- 
standing to these troubled people and help them 
free themselves from the domination of a mili- 
tary group they begin to despise? The people 

134 



LIFE IN BERLIN 

do not wish to be ugly. They do not believe in 
a Von Tirpitz submarine policy, but if England 
and France insist on smashing and crushing the 
German nation, where is their hope? What is 
left but ugly retaliation. We are not yet an- 
gels ! 



135 



CHAPTER IV 

THE POOD RIOTS AND THE POTATO LINE 

IS Germany efficient? The world shouts, 
" Yes." But there is more than one kind of 
efficiency. 

This is a true story told me by a friend of 
Frau Bunker. Frau Dunker is a working 
woman. She works early and late. She has no 
time for frivolity. Shopping is a luxury. But 
Frau Bunker's stockings had given out. They 
had holes past mending. She must have new 
ones. Cheap stockings require a Government 
card. Silk stockings can be had without. But 
silk stockings are not in Frau Bunker's class. 
Grumblingly she gets her clothes card. She 
leaves the factory at noon, and spends the lunch 
hour in search. She finds the needed stockings, 
but at twice their former price. She carefully 
notes store and price. The adventure in stock- 
ings has only begun. The next step is a visit 
to the police. In the evening, weary with work, 

136 



FOOD KIOTS AND THE POTATO LINE 

she waits her turn in line. At last her name 
is called. She receives a certificate of identifi- 
cation stating she is Frau Dunker, and lives in 
Martin Lutherstrasse. Armed with this she 
next proceeds to a city magistrate. Again she 
waits her turn, but eventually reaches the au- 
gust presence. The interview is touching. The 
magistrate doubts her necessity. She removes 
her shoes and exhibits naked toes, protruding 
through gaping holes. She tells the dispenser 
of stockings that the articles are to be had at 
such a store for such a price. Grudgingly the 
magistrate gives an order for two pairs. Thus 
equipped with identification certificate and mag- 
istrate's order, Frau Dunker proceeds to her 
purchase. Fortunately, the stockings desired 
are still to be had. Had they been sold, and a 
different kind purchased, the red tape must all 
be unraveled again. 

Frau Dunker goes home that night muttering : 
" Curses on the military. Next time I won't 
buy stockings. I '11 let my feet get sore. Then 
the Government must care for me." 

Is this efficient? Is there not such a thing as 
over-organization? Suppose the police, the mag- 
istrates, card indexers, and idle rich were set 

137 



SHORT RATIONS 

to making stockings. Might there not be enough 
to go around? Germany abounds in red tape. 

I struggled desperately to reach Germany's 
poor. I wanted to expend the money given me 
by the Christian Work Fund properly. But of- 
ficial Germany denies its poor and hides them. 
The officials of the Relief Organizations were 
very kindly and very appreciative, but they in- 
sisted on showing me card catalogues and 
pamphlets, and on discussing organization in- 
stead of producing hungry babies. I flatly re- 
fused to spend money on cataloguing. One day 
I was told I should see suffering babies and 
Germany's care. In different districts Berlin 
has centers for babies. Here children are 
brought to be tested. I reached one of these 
offices at 2.30 one afternoon. Two is the open- 
ing hour. There were no babies. I found a 
doctor, two white-clad nurses, three beautifully- 
equipped rooms, and row upon row of index 
cards. Just as I was departing, one quite nor- 
mal-looking baby arrived. The doctor reported 
the baby's condition as satisfactory. 

My lack of success discouraged me. I ap- 
pealed to a woman social -worker. " Very well," 
she said ; " I '11 show you what is happening." 

138 



FOOD RIOTS AND THE POTATO LINE 

She took me to the north of Berlin. There lit- 
tle children swarmed, dirty, ragged, barefooted, 
and pale. This is a new state of affairs for 
Germany. Heretofore there has always been at 
least potatoes and clothes. No one has gone 
hungry. Paternalism flourishes only when the 
family is fed. When father fails to furnish food 
the children rebel. The spirit of rebellion is 
abroad in Germany. We visited several tene- 
ments. The following is a typical family. A 
mother, nine children, and grandmother, two 
rooms and a kitchen. Father in the war, in- 
come 144 marks ($36) a month ; rent, $7 a month. 
This mother could not afford to eat at a feeding 
kitchen. One meal at ten cents a head meant 
$1.20. The baby was six months old. It had 
what is termed " the English sickness." It was 
weak from lack of nourishment. It could not 
raise its arms. Since September 1st only chil- 
dren under six are allowed milk. The allowance 
is a pint a day. Not enough to nourish a baby. 
This family was living on tea and potatoes. 

We visited many families. I could not but 
admire my companion. She was very proud, but 
tears ran down her cheeks. She belonged to 
the official class. She adored Germany, and 

139 



SHORT RATIONS 

held every German act right, yet her heart bled 
for her people. Vainly she was trying to stem 
the tide. She dashed her tears aside to say: 
" Do you wonder German women are bitter? 
But England shall not bring us to our knees, 
rather we will give our last baby first." 

At every home I insisted on laying in sui> 
plies. But there was little to buy. Nothing 
with substance — no meal. We had to be con- 
tent with pudding powder (Heaven knows what 
that is), tea "Ersatz," and some canned goods. 
My companion had succeeded in getting some 
packages of meal from the Government. When 
she produced one of these the family went mad 
with joy. Quaker oats are more precious to 
mothers than diamonds. The thing that is 
needed is food — not money. But I gave my 
companion some money from the Christian 
Work Fund. " Buy things that are going to the 
rich and give them to the poor," I said. 

I knew now what was most needed. It was 
milk for babies. I dislike quoting figures, but 
a trustworthy and well-informed Social Demo- 
crat told me that in the big hospitals for babies 
the increase in mortality was 50 per cent. In 
the German papers were printed the following 

140 



FOOD RIOTS AND THE POTATO LINE 

statistics in regard to the Children's Hospital 
in Berlin. In the first three days, 1912-1913 
— ninety-three died. In the first three days 
1914 to 1915, 160 died. I consulted Dr. Kim- 
mule, the head of the German Red Cross in Ber- 
lin, about securing milk. He thought the best 
investment goats. More money had come from 
the Christian Work Fund, and I turned over 
4,000 marks (roughly, because of depreciation, 
about $800), with which to buy goats for the 
north of Berlin. The wealthy agrarian who 
sold the goats asked 150 marks ($37.50) a goat. 
Ordinarily, the price is 30 marks, or $5.50 per 
goat. Was this German agrarian patriotic or 
efficient? He made money out of the necessity 
of German babies. Why did the Government 
permit it? Was it efficient? Does Germany 
handle its food supply efficiently? 

The following items are to be had only with 
Government cards: Bread, meat, potatoes, but- 
ter, sugar, cheese, milk, eggs, meal, flour, soap, 
and cheap clothes. Each person has to trade 
at the store assigned. Working people have to 
buy during noon and evening hours. This re- 
sults in long lines in front of every shop at 
twelve and at six. 

141 



SHORT RATIONS 

One Saturday evening I went to a big market 
in the poor quarter of Berlin. This market 
covers an entire block. In it are sold meat, gro- 
ceries, and dairy products. I arrived at six. 
There was little meat visible. At one booth a 
butcher presided over a wholly empty counter. 
A little old woman stood before him weeping 
bitterly. Between sobs she let out a torrent of 
words. This is what she said : " I must have 
some fat" — sob — "I haven't had meat or fat 
for three weeks." Sob, sob, sob. " My stomach 
has turned against marmalade " — sob — " I 
can't live on it any longer." Sob, and indig- 
nantly : " It 's no use telling me to come earlier 
before the meat 's gone. I can't come earlier. 
I have to work until six." 

I pulled my companion's sleeve : " Look ! " 
I said, " There 's meat on that other counter ; 
could n't we buy some? " But no, of course not ; 
the little old woman could only get meat with 
her meat card from her particular butcher. This 
time it was I who said : " Curses on the mili- 
tary." Conspicuously over many counters 
flapped the sign, " Ersatz." " Ersatz " means 
substitute. Sausage Ersatz was a pale edition 
of the real article. One's speculations run riot. 

142 



FOOD EIOTS AND THE POTATO LINE 

But there were few meat purchasers. The 
people were out for potatoes. The potato coun- 
ter was as bad as a bargain day in a department 
store. At six o'clock there was a line stretching 
through the entire market and far out into the 
street. At least two thousand people were in 
line. I stood and watched for three hours, and 
the line never decreased. As fast as some left, 
others arrived. There were old men and women, 
mothers with babies and tiny children clinging 
to their skirts, and young children carrying huge 
baskets. The crowd swayed and muttered. It 
stood on one foot and then on the other. 
Women who had worked all day looked ready to 
drop with fatigue. At the counter three or four 
women employees were dealing out potatoes and 
punching cards as rapidly as possible. Occa- 
sionally little commotions broke the monotony. 
Once a baby cried. We hurried toward the 
sound. In a baby carriage a tiny creature 
sobbed drearily. Standing beside the carriage 
and clinging tight to the baby was a five-year- 
old, also weeping. Brother, twelve years old, 
had been standing in line three hours for his 
potatoes. Meanwhile, the babies had grown 
hungry. They had had nothing to eat since 

143 



SHORT RATIONS 

noon. Some kindly women gave them bread, 
which was devoured eagerly. Presently mother 
arrived, just released from the factory. She was 
tired and worn. She shook and scolded brother 
for being so slow. Then the little procession 
moved off, the babies, the little boy, all dirty, 
ragged, and barefooted, and the worn mother, 
with a bag of potatoes between them. All they 
had. Father was in the war. 

Once I left the market and went with my friend 
to sit on a street bench near by. Close to us was 
a pale, sickly man and his wife and child. 

"Have you your potatoes?" we inquired. 
" No," was the reply, " but grandmother is stand- 
ing in line. It 's going to be all right to-night. 
Last Saturday we waited three hours. Then we 
had n't any. They 'd given out." " What did 
you do?" we gasped. Quietly, without bitter- 
ness, came the answer: "We went hungry, of 
course." 

We went back to the market. There was still 
the same line, but the crowd was getting rest- 
less. A rumor was afloat that the potatoes were 
giving out. Women began to talk in angry 
tones. Then an amusing incident occurred. A 
patient horse hitched to a delivery wagon had 

144 



FOOD RIOTS AND THE POTATO LINE 

been standing among the people. Little chil- 
dren came to pat and stroke his nose. He 
seemed the mildest of creatures. Then came the 
report about the potatoes. The crowd began to 
mutter. An officious policeman began to shove 
the people back. His tones were angry, his 
manner far from gentle. As he passed the horse, 
the creature seemed to bristle. Its meekness 
vanished, and throwing up its head, it gave the 
officer a vicious nip. A little cheer broke from 
the crowd. The horse was so human. It had 
so expressed the multitude. The officer was 
furious. He spat upon the animal, and hit him 
in the face. In a moment children were crowd- 
ing around and again patting the horse's nose. 
All the creature's meekness returned. But the 
crowd w T as angry. Some women shook their 
fists. Then a whisper passed along the line. 
More potatoes had arrived. A huge w T agon-full 
stood outside. Only this word prevented a riot. 
The crowd settled down; peace came again. 
Nothing would happen that night. It was nine 
o'clock. My friend and I were weary, and we 
left. 

Is such food distribution efficient? The agra- 
rians are asking about one and one-half cents a 

145 



SHOKT RATIONS 

pound for potatoes. Three times the pre-war 
price. They wanted to raise the cost to three 
cents, but the Government set the limit at a cent 
and a half. Out of revenge the agrarians sent 
the worst potatoes to Berlin. 

Germany cannot afford to have one worker 
starve. Why not seize agrarian land, and set 
officials and card indexers to raising potatoes? 
It would be more profitable to pay them for such 
work than^ard for cataloguing. Why bother 
with cards? Why not establish eating kitchens, 
and let everybody who is hungry eat at meal 
times? Card cataloguing might be used to see 
that each one worked. But both rich and poor 
could be given food at Government kitchens, and 
share and share alike. 

The wealthy people do not stand in line. 
Their servants do this for them. Besides, chick- 
ens and birds at high prices are to be had without 
cards. The egg allowance is one a week. But 
for the wealthy this also is a farce. I grew egg 
hungry, and demanded two one week, but the 
waiter was adamant. " Well," I grinned, " I 
know what I '11 do ; I '11 buy some live chickens 
and keep them in my room, then I can have eggs 
every morning for breakfast. Actually the 

146 



FOOD RIOTS AND THE POTATO LINE 

waiter laughed. Seriously, that chicken idea is 
not bad. If Mme. Hempel had taken chickens 
and a goat to Germany with her this summer, in- 
stead of her lap dog, she would have been very 
popular. This idea is not patented, and I recom- 
mend it to all travelers in Germany. 

In the big cities conditions are worse than in 
the country. Farmers are expected to pool and 
sell their supplies of milk, butter, and eggs, but, 
naturally, they hold back enough for their chil- 
dren. There is no way of knowing how much 
milk each cow gives each day unless the German 
army was retired from the field to do the milking, 
and report to the Government. Even German 
organization cannot brook this. One farmer I 
discovered greasing the wheels of his wagon with 
home-made butter. The price of butter is kept 
at a fixed rate. Oil was so expensive he could n't 
afford it. Soap was not on the card list until 
late August. Fat had been under control for 
months, but the Government forgot soap was 
grease. Now one cake a month is the allowance. 
The ante-war soap is very expensive. I paid 50 
cents for a 15 cent cake. The soap made since 
the war is atrocious. 

I asked the Social Democrats about the food 
147 



SHORT RATIONS 

riots. They occurred, I was told, chiefly in the 
spring, when the potatoes gave out. In Ham- 
burg the women ran straight on the soldiers' bay- 
onets in the struggle for food, and several were 
killed. The following day, Sunday, the Govern- 
ment had to throw open the Hamburg provision 
stores, and let the people buy to restore peace. 
Berlin has had several riots, In some cities 
women have been shot. " It is quite easy to start 
rebellion," said, a Social Democrat to me. 
" Several times we went to the market and urged 
the crowd to riot. But we stopped, for women 
were put in prison and the children left desti- 
tute." 

But when there are no potatoes there will be 
riots. As long as there is food for the children, 
however inadequate, the women keep quiet. 
Their hearts are sore, but they dare not rebel. 
They fear the fate that may befall their husbands 
at the front, if they make trouble. Or, if the 
husband is wounded, they fear he will not be well 
cared for. Or they fear their children will be 
taken from them. But these women when spoken 
to look wise and say: "Wait until our men 
come back from the front, then you '11 see." 

The German Government is headed for dis- 
148 



FOOD EIOTS AND THE POTATO LINE 

aster, because it has failed to distinguish between 
two kinds of efficiency — personal efficiency and 
industrial efficiency. Human beings cannot be 
treated like machines. It does not make them 
efficient. The world would do well to copy Ger- 
many's industrial efficiency. German hotels, 
railroads, cars, and factories are the best of their 
kind. But Germany's attempt to apply her sys- 
tem to individuals is creating havoc. Human 
beings are efficient when they are imaginative, 
original, and uncrushable. That is why France 
has out-shone all other belligerents. Her people 
can turn a shirt-waist factory into a munition 
factory overnight. Germany would spend three 
months cataloguing and drawing plans. Eng- 
land would be too bound by tradition and custom 
to make such an adjustment. She would build 
a new factory. 

A year ago, I nursed the wounded French sol- 
diers. They could discuss anything from femi- 
nism to American politics. The German com- 
mon soldier dares talk only what he has been 
taught. The English " Tommy " is too stolid to 
talk of anything. 

Under paternalism we feed, clothe, and spank 
our babies, and they may become good-natured, 

149 



SHORT RATIONS 

obedient, and cultured people. But if the roof 
blows off the house and the children are thrust 
out to meet bears and snakes undirected, they are 
helpless. 

There is only one real preparedness, and that 
is preparation for life. That is to be had, not 
by drill and obedience, but by learning self-con- 
trol through self-government. Only people who 
do their own thinking and steering have value. 
When children have become efficient, put them 
together to learn united action. The force of 
thinking people, acting as one, is gigantic. Sec- 
retary Daniels talks of introducing self-govern- 
ment into the American Navy. Self-government 
has proved a successful method of dealing with 
convicts. It is a method that will be even more 
vaulable for the ordinary citizen. If the Ameri- 
can Navy becomes really self-governing, its effi- 
ciency will make the English Navy look tired. 

The wonder of the world is not Germany or 
England, but France. Germany in years of 
preparation built up an army, and laid in food 
and munitions for two years. But the two 1 years 
is up, and the nation begins to crack and 
crumble. France, on the other hand, in spite of 
the strain, is still active and vividly alive. Her 

150 



FOOD RIOTS AND THE POTATO LINE 

people, undrilled in obedience, but strong in per- 
sonal efficiency, have stood together as one man. 
Slowly the German people are disintegrating. 
In March or April, if not before, unless securing 
the food supply in Rournania puts off the evil 
day, the potatoes will give out, and there will be 
riots. When this occurs, if Lloyd George is still 
making speeches about crushing Germany, the 
German militarists by these speeches may drive 
the people together in a campaign of desperation 
and horror. Belgians will be seized and abused, 
submarine terrors multiplied. But if a hand of 
sympathy is extended to the German worker, he 
will riot, not against mankind, but against his 
own Government. Militarism will be over- 
thrown. Now is the critical moment. Ought 
Ave not to aid the awakened, struggling German 
in his fight against Imperialism? 



151 



CHAPTER V 

SIGNS OF UNREST AND REBELLION 

I HAD been in Berlin two weeks. I wanted 
to see other portions of Germany. I learned 
there was to be an official tour for journalists. 
I went to the German Press Bureau. " Could I 
visit some prison camps? " I inquired. " If you 
let me and I find they are good, I should be glad 
to say so." The young man in charge of the 
German Press is keenly intelligent. He repre- 
sented the civil authorities — the Von Hollweg 
group. There is a vast difference between the 
civil and military authorities. The civil are 
much more liberal. They are eager to send news 
to America. I was told of a nine-day tour which 
included a visit to two prison camps, and 
invited to join the expedition. These trips are 
magnificent feats in German propaganda. . An 
intelligent director conducts a group of report- 
ers through the country. All expenses are paid 
and the journalists feted and feasted. It is hard 

152 



SIGNS OF UNREST AND REBELLION 

to view Germany impartially when fed on cham- 
pagne. I delayed my departure for a day. It 
was the moment of the Liebnecht trial and I 
wished to be present in case of an uprising". 
Also by this postponement, I avoided the special 
car assigned to journalists and could pay my own 
railroad fare to Karlsruhe. 

Berlin had been very interesting. I was 
loath to leave. As I came back to the Adlon 
for afternoon tea there was a great crowd around 
the entrance. A person in much gold braid and 
military trappings stood in the hallway. A 
hushed awe pervaded the place. Even the Amer- 
ican reporters were humbly cringing in corners. 
The royal princess was upstairs. She and others 
of the nobility were on their way to a funeral. 
A Russian officer, who had intermarried with the 
German nobility, had been killed at the front, 
and the relatives were attending his funeral. 
Having had tea and readjusted their veils, the 
royal party descended. The ladies were in deep- 
est mourning, their veils so thick that not a speck 
of face was visible. A sacred circle surrounded 
them, into which no one stepped. The crowd 
was pushed back. Carlyle and his clothes theory 
flashed upon me. These people were just a 

153 



SHORT RATIONS 

bundle of clothes. How much heart and brain 
lay beneath. If only one could dress royalty in 
bathing suits, it would be easier to form esti- 
mates. Outside were shining carriages, fat and 
prancing horses (the only fat horses in Berlin) 
and spick and span liveried servants. A silent 
crowd watched the entrance into the coaches. 
But it pressed up close to this bit of luxury. I 
w r ondered if the princess through her black veil 
could see the pale, thin faces peering in the 
carriage windows. 

Next day was the Liebknecht trial. No paper 
announced it, but word had been passed to me 
by the Social Democrats. That day I was up 
early. I took a taxi and drove 'round and 'round 
the big grim barracks where Liebknecht was said 
to be imprisoned. But all was still. No crowd 
gathered. There was no royal ceremonial for 
this brave spirit. Bitterly disappointed by the 
lack of demonstration, I sought out some Social 
Democrats. They were Liebknecht's intimate 
friends. I took two taxis and three electric 
trams to elude spies, jumping from one to an- 
other. These radicals were as disappointed as I 
that nothing had occurred. The factory workers 
were to have made a protest. A large body was 

154 



SIGNS OF UNREST AND REBELLION 

to have gone on strike. A little leaflet stating 
time and place for the demonstration was to 
have been distributed. But the leaflet failed to 
arrive. A big package reached Berlin, but when 
opened it contained a soldier's uniform. The 
Government had gotten wind of the plot and 
seized the leaflets, substituting the uniform. No 
one dared make inquiries. It would have meant 
imprisonment. 

Few people outside Germany know of the ex- 
tensive revolt carried on by the radicals. The 
day of Liebknecht's imprisonment 5500 workers 
in one munition factory alone, just outside Ber- 
lin, went on strike for the entire day. There 
were similar protests throughout the country. 
A detailed statement was given me but I dared 
not carry such literature about. 

The Liebknecht following grows. The workers 
more and more flock to his standard to the infi- 
nite dissatisfaction of the major wing of the 
Social Democratic party. The demonstration 
that caused Liebknecht's arrest will go down in 
history. Several thousand were gathered in 
Leipsicerstrasse and Potsdamerplatz. They had 
come to talk peace. But when Liebknecht ap- 
peared a mighty shout went up from a thousand 

155 



SHORT RATIONS 

throats. " Hurrah for Liebknecht." Liebknecht 
raised his hand for silence. Then steadily, 
though knowing the cost, he said : " Do not 
shout for me, shout rather we will have no more 
war. We will have peace — now." Two young 
women standing near pulled his sleeve. 
" Don't," they begged ; " it means the end for 
you." But the crowd had taken up the cry. 
"We will have peace now." It went echoing 
down the street in a mighty roar. Police were 
already at Liebknecht's side. He smiled at the 
young women and said : " Never mind ; I am the 
best victim." But he was not the only victim. 
The two young women who had never before met 
Liebknecht and had taken no part in the demon- 
stration are to-day also in prison. 

The number in prison is astounding. In 
Stuttgart 400 are serving terms. There are cor- 
responding numbers in all big cities, but I can- 
not be sure enough of my memory to quote accur- 
ately. But these victims are not suffering in 
vain. The military authorities clap every Lieb- 
knecht radical behind the bars, but they cannot 
stop the growing popular demand for peace. 
They dare not. The major wing of the Social 
Democratic party have taken advantage of this. 

156 



SIGNS OF UNREST AND REBELLION 

Throughout Germany under their auspices peace 
meetings are being held. Everywhere people are 
signing a petition for peace, on the basis of 
status quo before the war. As long as the de- 
mands are kept to this, peace meetings are toler- 
ated. Not to permit them would be fatal. 
There is a low, ominous murmur rising from the 
people. 

Most of the leaders in Liebknecht groups are in 
prison, but the followers fight on. No longer 
openly because they fear prison, but quietly and 
insidiously. Gradually they are spreading re- 
volt among the workers. The spirit of freedom 
is abroad in Germany. It can never again be 
wholly crushed. 

Present among the group of Social Democrats 
with whom I talked was the young daughter of 
a prominent member. Her father is at the front. 
He was snatched up and sent there despite all 
protest. " Thank God, I 'ni near-sighted," he 
said ; " naturally, I will never kill any one, and 
my failure to land a bullet may be mistaken for 
bad eyesight, in which case I will get back to 
you." His sixteen-year-old daughter is as vivid 
and radiant as a spring morning. She is in the 
thick of the work her father left. Not long ago 

157 



SHORT RATIONS 

she and 500 young people, boys and girls, be- 
tween the ages of thirteen and twenty had a 
demonstration. It was a holiday and they went 
to the country for a day of comradeship. To- 
ward evening, when the setting sun added its 
glow to those young and fearless faces ; they came 
marching back along the country road singing 
" The Marseillaise." Over them they bore a 
banner which read : " We are the advance guard 
of the proletariat." They passed only one police- 
man on their entry into the city. He was help- 
less before this indomitable five hundred. He 
could make no arrests, but he ordered them to dis- 
band. Many of the young girls were clad in 
gymnasium costume. The policeman was horri- 
fied. In factories and subways everywhere 
women wear bloomers, but this shocked police- 
man, shuddered to see young girls with pigtails 
so clad. The young crowd surrounded the of- 
ficer gaily. Laughter was on their lips, humor 
shone in their eyes, as they gave out wrong names 
and wrong addresses. For a painful hour with 
furrowed brow the worried official wrote busily. 
To this day he is still hunting for those unlady- 
like House-Fraus. 

It was with reluctance I took leave of this lit- 
158 



SIGNS OF UNREST AND REBELLION 

tie radical group. It was late evening when I 
reached the Adlon. A spirit of excitement and 
tenseness pervaded the street. It had all day. 
Policemen lurked on every corner. An unusual 
number of spies were abroad. It was evident the 
Government feared an uprising. But it had 
planned a judicious stroke. For some time there 
had been rumors that the Deutschland was back 
in Bremen. But if it was, the Government sup- 
pressed the fact. It kept that sugar plum for 
a psychological moment. 

This evening, when all thoughts were centered 
on Liebnecht's fate, seemed the needed moment. 
As I came down " Unter den Linden," a news 
sheet was slipped in my hand. These leaflets 
were being distributed broadcast gratis by the 
" Berliner Morgen Post." In splashing black 
letters across the page was, " U Boat Deutschland 
eingetrofen An Bord Alles Wohl." A little 
thrill coursed through me. It was magnetic and 
contagious. Life and color came to the eye of 
the spy, pedestrian and soldier alike. This was 
a deed of which all Germany could be proud. 
It bound all together. Temporarily steps grew 
light and heads went up. It was interesting to 
note the difference in effect produced by this 

159 



BERLINER, 




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A. facsimile of the handbill circulated in Berlin the evening the 
Deutschland reached Bremen for the first time. 



160 



SIGNS OF UNREST AND REBELLION 

news and that of the sinking of the Lusitania. 

I was in Berlin a year ago, just after the Lusi- 
tania disaster. Then the crowd was excited, 
angry, and sullen, doggedly determined to make 
the world think that act justifiable. But no 
pride shone from eyes. But the Deutschland 
news was different. It was as though a great 
gust of self-respect had flooded the nation. Next 
morning hidden in the back sheets of the papers 
was a tiny paragraph of six lines announcing 
Liebknecht had been sentenced to four years' im- 
prisonment at hard labor. But sprawled over 
the entire paper in great black letters was the 
Deutschland' s story. It was hard to riot against 
a Government that had just done something of 
which all were proud. 

I left in the early morning. I was to make a 
side trip and visit a home for Avar-orphans be- 
fore joining the touring expedition. During my 
entire stay in Berlin I had clamored to see homes 
for war-orphans, without success. Either there 
were none near Berlin or they were not for in- 
spection. But I was told a model institution had 
just been established outside Leipsic. This I 
should see. After traveling from 7.30 until. 4, 
and taking five trains, I was presented to twenty - 

161 



SHOET RATIONS 

five war-orphans. My temper, I confess, was 
ruffled. I had seen hundreds of index cards de- 
scribing destitute children, and now after a 
strenuous day twenty-five " kiddies " were ex- 
hibited. There can be no doubt it was a model 
institution. It was a farm situated among hills 
with well-equipped buildings. The institution 
served two purposes: it trained hospital nurses 
and these women during their training cared for 
the children. The nurses were kindly. It was 
evident they did their best for their charges. One 
group of three little sisters had lost a father at 
the front, and their mother, an actress, had gone 
insane from grief. The only criticism I had to 
make was that the children, regardless of par- 
entage or inclination, were all being trained for 
domestic service. Germany's relentless methods 
of education are often appalling. I came across 
one very distressing example. 

At the beginning of the war German refugees, 
mothers and children in other lands, were al- 
lowed to return to the Fatherland, while the 
men were interned in the enemy's country. 
Frequently these mothers and babies had no 
money. When this was the case the German 
Government assigned the mothers work in dif- 

162 



SIGNS OF UNREST AND REBELLION 

ferent places and put their children in institu- 
tions. Many a mother to-day is a broken wreck 
in a hospital through loss of husband and chil- 
dren. 

I protested vigorously at this separation of 
families, but the authorities assured me it had 
to be. They said, " When we kept mothers and 
children together, the mothers quarreled and it 
made too much trouble." 

The real truth of the matter, I fear, is that Ger- 
many wanted to train the boys in one institution 
to be soldiers and the girls in another to be do- 
mestic servants. 

I make this statement advisedly because it is 
corroborated by another incident. I had seen 
how the poor suffered for lack of food. I knew 
if babies with adoring mothers and soldiers with 
devoted wives went hungry, unloved war-or- 
phans had no chance in the struggle. 

The suffering of destitute children haunted me 
until an idea came. No one in the world could 
willingly want babies to starve. The thing to do 
was to charter big ocean steamers, gather up 
hungry children, and bring them to America. 
In America we could feed and clothe them until 
the war was over. No nation on earth would 

163 



SHORT RATIONS 

dare molest such a shipload. Rick Americans, 
I felt sure, could be counted on to finance the 
scheme. 

I went to the German Red Cross authorities 
with my plan. I was given great praise for my 
kindly intention, but the authorities were ada- 
mant. Starving or not, German babies must be 
educated in Germany. Only one kind of educa- 
tion was adequate — German education. A 
year of American training was not to be toler- 
ated. 

But such an attitude is sheer madness. I told 
many German workers about my project. As 
their children slip down hill from want of nour- 
ishment, they will rise in wrath against a Gov- 
ernment that refused such aid. 

After two hours in the orphans' home I de- 
parted. With the aid of two more trains I 
reached Leipsic. Here I had a solitary dinner 
in a big empty hotel. The dinner consisted of 
chicken and a baked apple, and two almost white 
rolls presented to me by the orphan asylum. 

At midnight I took the train for Karlsruhe. I 
had supposed I was boarding a sleeper, but 
I had to change cars at one-thirty a. m. 

This first train was bound for the Western 
164 



SIGNS OF UNREST AND REBELLION 

front. It was packed with soldiers. An officer 
hearing my bad German was inclined to ques- 
tion me and be over-friendly, but he soon de- 
sisted. In my compartment were three soldiers 
and a merchant. Soldiers rarely have the lux- 
ury of sleepers. So they lowered the light and 
crouched down in their corners, prepared to 
sleep. 

It was a weird sensation being flung so closely 
against this evidence of war. By the tiny gleam 
of light I could just see the outline of those mili- 
tary figures and the knives sticking in each boot. 
I fell to wondering how many stabs each knife 
had given. 

It was a relief an hour and a half later to 
change trains. 

The next morning, somewhat weary, I arrived 
at my destination. I had been on nine trains 
the preceding day to see twenty-five war orphans. 

My party was out when I reached the hotel. 
They were viewing the monuments of Karlsruhe. 
It was with relief that I settled down into the at- 
tractive room assigned. I foresaw it would be 
restful to have every act prearranged by others. 

I was dressing for lunch when I heard a great 
commotion. German life is so dull these days 

165 



SHORT RATIONS 

that anything causes excitement. There was a 
great clattering of hoofs. That in itself was 
unusual. I hurried to the window. Coming 
down the square was row on row of open car- 
riages. Barefooted children were running be- 
side them. It must be at least the royal ruler of 
the Duchy of Baden, I thought. But no, the 
carriages were stopping in front of the hotel. 
They were old-fashioned affairs, pulled by resur- 
rected white horses. On the boxes sat aged little 
men in uniforms many sizes too large. Their 
silk hats came down over their ears. Then I 
chortled with glee. Yes — it was — our party 
of nineteen scrubby reporters. All this pomp 
and ceremony was for us. 

I felt like Alice in Wonderland transformed 
into the Red Queen. The gaping populace stood 
about, while the press alighted with all the dig- 
nity they could muster. It was funny and 
tragic. Germany had no one else to entertain 
and we were treated like royalty. 

Downstairs all was commotion. An elaborate 
luncheon was being prepared. The Chamber of 
Commerce was entertaining us. There were two 
gentlemen to each reporter. An excuse for a 
big meal is a godsend to-day. 

166 



SIGNS OF UNREST AND REBELLION 

These gentlemen had spared no expense. We 
had seven or eight courses ; two or three kinds of 
wine, including champagne. We ate for over 
two hours. 

It seemed cruel when I remembered Germany's 
poor. That long swaying line of people in the 
north of Berlin, struggling for potatoes. Yet it 
was impossible to be angry with the Chamber of 
Commerce. These gentlemen were so kindly, so 
childlike in their obvious desire to be friends 
with people from neutral lands. 

Gracious speeches were made which I did not 
understand. Perhaps it was well I did n't, for 
I could clink glasses and drink to unknown 
toasts. But all the time my heart ached for the 
hungry people outside and the following ques- 
tions never ceased to torment me. If the war 
kept on wouldn't the radicals at the front and 
the radicals in prison be killed and starved while 
the military leaders and the jingoes which the 
world professed to hate be kept intact? Did n't 
the German military authorities want the war to 
continue until all the strong men were killed, 
so they could browbeat and discipline the young 
boys and women left and build up a more power- 
ful military autocracy than ever? But if peace 

167 



SHORT RATIONS 

came, if the men came back, if suffering human- 
ity came together, what would happen then? 
Wouldn't that be death to militarism? Didn't 
the militarists fear that moment? 

My mind painted a picture. I knew what 
would happen. I saw them, the young guard 
of the proletariat, indomitable groups of five 
hundred, marching from every corner of Ger- 
many to the palace gates. 

Yes, if peace comes before death, the Govern- 
ment will have to pay. 



168 



CHAPTER VI 

A TOUR FOR JOURNALISTS — PRISON CAMPS AND 
HOSPITALS 

September, 1916. 

THE official tour for journalists began its 
sight seeing in Karlsruhe. It was under 
direction of a Herr Dr. Shoemacher. Journal- 
ists from neutral countries were to be shown the 
greatness of Germany. All expenses were paid. 
There were nineteen press representatives, in- 
cluding myself: four women and fifteen men. 
We came from Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Hol- 
land, Switzerland, Spain, and America. The 
one other American was a woman who lives in 
Germany and writes for the "New York 
Journal." Some of us were quite scrubby. 
But several of the gentlemen had dress suits and 
nearly all clean collars. I had a mussy evening 
dress creased from a steady traveling in a hand 
bag, but the other American lady blossomed out 
in a black silk. 

169 



SHORT RATIONS 

At first it was a little difficult to live up to 
our surroundings. No money was spared for 
our entertainment. We traveled in a special 
car. Carriages and taxis resurrected from the 
past met us at the station and conducted us to 
expensive hotels. 

But one quickly learns to be autocratic. In a 
day even the gentleman without a clean collar 
was critical if he had n't a private bath. The 
moment of descent on a new city was thrilling. 
As the train drew in to the station, lined up 
on the platform would be a group of prominent 
citizens, retired generals, covered with gold 
braid and medals, wealthy merchants, the Bur- 
germaster and Ober-Burgermaster, and other 
city officials, w T hile the populace crowded in the 
background. At such moments I descended from 
the train as graciously as I could and extended 
my hand. Often I had it kissed. It was diffi- 
cult to remember we were only reporters. 

After luncheon in Karlsruhe, given by the 
Chamber of Commerce, at which champagne was 
served, we were all very friendly. At three we 
set off for the crippled soldiers' hospital at Et- 
tlingen. With a private car we reached that sub- 
urb in a few moments. As we walked through 

170 



A TOUR FOR JOURNALISTS 

the village streets headed by distinguished-look- 
ing generals, dirty half-naked, underfed children 
sprawled on doorsteps, and through an open door 
of a big building I saw a long line of patient peo- 
ple buying potatoes. The Lazarette for armless 
and legless men is impressive. It has a great 
stretch of open ground and many well-equipped 
buildings. 

The first room we entered contained surgical 
appliances. Suspended in each machine was a 
man. One hung by his shoulders having his 
neck stretched. Another lay face downward 
having a leg pulled. A third endured the twist- 
ing of a thumb and hand. Many of the patients 
were white with pain, beads of perspiration stood 
upon their foreheads. I shrank back. It was 
like entering Mme. Tussand's chamber of hor- 
rors, only these were living men, not wax figures. 
But the military doctors were urging us forward. 
With great pride they exhibited their inventions. 
It was the machine that counted. But I looked 
in the men's faces. Their expressions varied. 
Sometimes it was patient endurance, but often 
I saw anger and resentment. 

Much of interest was shown. At one time we 
were treated to a circus performance. A squad 

171 



SHOKT RATIONS 

of one-legged men was called to do dumb-bell ex- 
ercises. Nearly all kept their balance, only one 
or two lurched and tottered. Then a group of 
armless or one-armed men were made to jump 
wooden horses and do kindred stunts. " Don't 
the men object to being exhibited? " I asked, as I 
viewed the maimed group before me. " They 
did at first," was the reply, " but we soon broke 
them in and now they do it quite willingly." At 
the end of the performance we were taken to the 
room of false limbs. Here were steel arms with 
great iron hooks. These are called week-day 
arms. The Sunday arms are imitations of the 
real thing. Few but officers have Sunday arms. 
It was a weird scene, this exhibition of the latest 
invention in arms and legs. It might have been 
a demonstration in automobiles. Our little 
group stood or sat about while the military doc- 
tors produced crippled patients and strapped on 
appliances. 

The doctor's talk ran as follows: "This one 
has had his leg off just below the knee but he 
walks quite well," and he started the man down 
the room. 

" This one — " jerking another wreck forward 
— " has one leg off at the knee and the other at 

172 



A TOUR FOR JOURNALISTS 

the thigh but see how well he walks," and the 
maimed wreck was pranced up and down be- 
fore us. " Now this one," continued the doctor 
with pride, "has had both legs and an arm re- 
moved but you see he is quite satisfactory." I 
began to feel in a horrible nightmare. It seemed 
to me in another moment the doctor would be 
saying, " Now this man had his head shot off 
and we have substituted a wooden one. We 
found the spine controlled muscular action and 
he makes a perfectly satisfactory worker." 

Never once in the whole afternoon was the 
soul of those tortured bodies considered. The 
long hospital wards were clean but ugly. There 
were no flowers, no pictures, no games, no 
graphaphones. The men looked utterly 
wretched. When I commented on the need of 
amusement the reply was, " It does n't do to 
spoil the men; they don't want to work after- 
ward." 

From the hospital we made a hurried trip back 
to Karlsruhe and, packing bags, dashed for the 
train. As we passed through the station I no- 
ticed a large sign with a huge index finger. It 
said, " In case of aeroplanes go into the cellar." 
It was at Karlsruhe that eighty women and chil- 

173 



SHORT RATIONS 

dren were killed by bombs from French aero- 
planes. 

Our special car took us to Baden Baden. 

I closed my eyes wearily but we were soon at 
our destination. At the station were the open 
victorias and white horses, and we made a trium- 
phant journey to the hotel. But then came a 
hitch. No baggage appeared. We sat in the 
hotel parlor and the minutes slipped by. Across 
the way on the Casino terrace elaborate dinner 
preparations were going forward. The " Stadt " 
(city) was entertaining us this evening. A long 
table with sixty places and covered with flowers 
was being made ready. At a short distance were 
many small tables where wealthy citizens sat 
and humbly gazed from afar. Generals in glit- 
tering uniforms and the Ober-Burgomaster and 
other city officials began to arrive. And still we 
sat on in that hotel parlor. It didn't matter 
much if our luggage was lost. Still it was too 
bad not to have the clean collars and my evening 
dress for this grand occasion. 

An hour rolled by, then came word that our 
possessions were on the way. This is what had 
occurred. When we reached Baden Baden our 
luggage was in our special car, but it had been 

174 



A TOUR FOR JOURNALISTS 

thrown in without being labeled. Still it must 
have been evident to the station master that the 
bags belonged to us. But the German official 
mind does n't work that way. Once break the 
chain in efficiency and you have to begin all over. 
The stuff went back to Karlsruhe to get labeled 
and start out properly. It seems stupid of the 
Allies to be killing millions of men when the way 
to victory lies in slipping bolts that will topple 
the whole German fabric. 

We scampered into our clothes and arrived 
late and flushed at the dinner party. There were 
charming red roses at my plate. It was a sump- 
tuous meal, an hour long, with everything from 
oysters to ices, and a grand mixture of wines. 
A German general sat on my right and a prom- 
inent citizen on the left. Though I understood 
some German I still could not speak it. But 
the German general was very attractive, so I 
just smiled and murmured, <e Ja wohl." His 
thinness bothered me, and when we were half 
through dinner and the champagne had warmed 
his heart he said confidingly, " My clothes no 
longer fit ; I have lost twenty-four pounds around 
the waist." His childlike confession was pa- 
thetic, but he had a stoical pride that was thrill- 

175 



SHORT RATIONS 

ing, for, lie added, " It 's been much better for 
my health getting thin — all the German peo- 
ple are better off for this shortage of meat and 
fat." But he ate hungrily as did every one else. 

These dinner parties were a splendid excuse 
for a little joy. All through the meal a band 
played gayly. Thoughts of war vanished. The 
Casino garden with its lights, its music, and 
thronging people seemed a fairyland. It was n't 
until we left and passed through the iron gates 
that reality returned. You cannot enter the 
Casino garden without a. membership ticket. 
Consequently pressed against the outer railing 
were the lean and hungry populace of Baden 
Baden. The taste in my mouth grew bitter. It 
suddenly became very difficult to go on with this 
life of luxury. 

The next morning we visited the baths. They 
are gorgeous affairs much like those of ancient 
Rome. There is every conceivable kind of 
treatment for every conceivable disease. Whole 
houses devoted to vapor inhalations. After we 
had all been treated and reduced to sneezes and 
coughs we were conducted by funicular to the 
top of a two thousand foot mountain. 

Baden Baden is a heavenly spot. From that 
176 



A TOUR FOR JOURNALISTS 

glorious mountain top the glowing landscape 
stretches out on every side. It was impossible 
to believe war raged a few miles aw T ay. There 
was the shining meadow land with the glittering- 
Rhine, winding in and out; the thickly wooden 
hills, somber in shadows, fitting their name 
" Black Forest," and far off on the horizon dimly 
rose a church steeple. It marked the city of 
Strassburg. On a clear day when the wind is 
right the booming of cannon can be heard. 

But nothing in that serene and smiling scene 
spoke of death. I remembered the remark of a 
German woman ; " Thank God," she said, " the 
fighting is n't in our land. We are suffering 
badly, but at least our beloved country is n't be- 
ing destroyed." 

Again the " Stadt " fed us. This time on the 
mountain top. Again we clinked glasses and 
drank toasts. In the afternoon a special electric 
car took us about the town. We saw parks and 
fountains and flower gardens and the modern 
art gallery, and were introduced to the aged and 
distinguished painter, Hans Thoma. 

At five o'clock we again set forth in our pri- 
vate car. This time for Heidelberg. I had begun 
to grow very weary of constant entertainment, 

177 



SHORT RATIONS 

besides I felt myself a prisoner. I had over- 
heard the gentleman who danced attendance at 
Baden Baden say to my future guide in Heidel- 
berg, as he delivered me over, " Never let her out 
of your sight." 

At Heidelberg there was a quiet dinner in the 
hotel, but in the evening we were given a con- 
cert in the Park, where more beer and wine 
flowed. It was a dreary affair. Few people 
were present. Heidelberg is no longer the gay, 
alive, little university town I had known a few 
years before. A great stillness hangs over it. 
Scarcely any one moves on the streets. The uni- 
versity grounds are empty. No students flocked 
to patisseries for cafe and appel-kuchen. There 
is no appel-kuchen. Only soldiers file past, most 
of them mere boys. 

Heidelberg outdid herself for our entertain- 
ment. She had requisitioned some official auto- 
mobiles for our service. The next morning came 
the great adventure. We were taken to visit a 
camp for war prisoners. It is a camp for Eng- 
lish, French, and Russian officers. It is situated 
on the outskirts of the town. The buildings are 
the new barracks recently erected for German sol- 
diers, but never so used. With the automobiles 

178 




The Prison Camp at Heidelberg for French, English, and Russian 

Officers 




The Sitting- Room in the Prison Camp at Heidelberg 



A TOUR FOR JOURNALISTS 

we were there in a few moments. As we passed 
inside the high wire fence we saw a great open 
square. This was laid out in three tennis courts. 
Unmistakable Englishmen were playing strenu- 
ous tennis. There were 300 prisoners, including 
officers and orderlies. We spent an hour in in- 
spection and were hurried from room to room. 
There was a billiard room, a sitting-room, li- 
brary, dining-room, kitchen, and sleeping quar- 
ters, also a shop. All the prisoners receive 
money from home. In the store they can buy 
anything from tennis rackets to food. The 
actual cash is not given the men but instead an 
equivalent in imitation money. 

We saw more of the buildings than the pris- 
oners, but those we saw looked well. They had 
color and life. There was no doubt the camp 
was a good one. But there was no fraternizing 
between the German officers and the prisoners. 
All were rigidly silent. I spoke a Word of greet- 
ing to one or two English and French officers. 
Their faces lit up when addressed, and their eyes 
shone, when I added, " I am an American." 
One Englishman volunteered : " You don't 
know how good it is to speak to a woman ; it 's 
so long since we ? ve seen any one but the enemy." 

181 



SHORT BATIONS 

Some men had been interned two years. I knew 
they must be homesick and I wanted to give them 
news from home but dared not. I heard a young 
American, a volunteer in the English army, was 
in camp. I asked permission to speak to him 
privately. This was granted. I stepped to one 
side with the youth. We had only gotten as far as 
his name (C. G. Martin) when my ever-faithful 
attendant loomed up. Further confessions were 
useless. I tried to warn the young American. 
I feared he would mistake my companion for a 
compatriot, for that gentleman spoke excellent 
English and had no Teutonic earmarks. But 
young Martin didn't heed the warning. He 
continued blithely, " There is much to complain 
of in the camp, the beds are terribly hard and 
there is frightful overcrowding." The German 
gentleman at my elbow turned red, but to me 
the criticism was trivial. That a wealthy, young 
American should limit his criticisms to hard beds 
and overcrowding indicated clearly the camp 
was a good one. But more followed. He con- 
tinued: "An English officer by the name of 
McLane tried to escape and got caught. He has 
been put in solitary confinement without trial. 
For ten days he has had no exercise and is grow- 

182 



A TOUR FOR JOURNALISTS 

ing ill." By this time my German companion 
was enraged. I dare delay departure no longer. 
As we left we brought Mr. McLane's case before 
the German officials. They said he was receiv- 
ing the same discipline a German soldier would 
have had to endure for a similar offense. I did 
not doubt this. I remembered the wounded at 
the Lazarette. German soldiers are suffering 
greater torment at the hand of their own Govern- 
ment than are the enemy prisoners. 

But the prison camp at Heidelberg was de- 
pressing. Places of confinement always are. It 
was the depression of suppression. There is a re- 
lentlessness about the German official that to a 
free spirit is suffocating. As an honored guest 
even I felt it. I had become suddenly glad I 
was an American. Not from love of country but 
because America is a democracy. Champagne, 
hand-kissing, and physical comfort cannot take 
the place of liberty. 

From the prison camp we went to inspect the 
gas works. These had recently been built and 
were shown us as a demonstration of what Ger- 
many can do in spite of war. From the gas 
works we repaired to the famous sixteenth cen- 
tury restaurant " Der Ritter." Here we had 

183 



SHOET BATIONS 

light luncheon of more beer and wine, and cavier 
sandwiches. Yes — real cavier. 

After this treat we walked to the ancient 
" Schloss." It is a massive half-ruined castle on 
the hillside. We sat on broken pillars and lis- 
tened to a historical discourse. At two o'clock 
we were on top of a mountain having an- 
other gorgeous repast, given by the city. We 
had a private dining-room with a table for sixty. 
There were flowers for the ladies, and six or seven 
courses and unlimited beverages. I begun to 
throw a hate on drinks. My sleep had become 
troubled dreams of processions of mittagessens 
and abemdessens. No wonder reporters who 
make official tours and never see anything else 
of Germany report the land flowing with plenty. 

In the afternoon we had a beautiful motor trip. 
We went far out into the country following the 
course of the Necker. This part of Germany is 
smiling and fertile, quite different from the 
North. About Hamburg and Berlin and on the 
journey to the south the land was barren, dry, 
and juiceless. It looked moth-eaten and fly- 
bitten. The lack of fertility showed in pale 
faces and lusterless hair, and the thinness and 
stringiness of the meat and fish. 

184 



A TOUR FOR JOURNALISTS 

Late that afternoon the pilgrimage began 
again. This time we went to Mannheim. We 
arrived at seven. Here we produced every speck 
of finery. The " Stadt " gave us a magnificent 
dinner in the Friederich's park. It seemed to 
me I should die if I drank another toast, but I saw 
a failure to appear would be taken amiss. 

That night Italy and Rumania declared war, 
but the dinner party was as joyous as ever. 
Neither by look or word was there a sign that 
anything had happened. These smiling gentle- 
men had the confidence of gods. One could not 
but admire their bearing. The Rumanian re- 
porter in our midst had to leave, but he was 
strongly pro-German and declared as he departed 
he would never return to his country. 

During the succeeding days it was evident 
from the newspapers and the talk that Germany 
was concentrating on her new enemy. Rumania 
had great wheat and oil supplies. These must 
be had. Germany's best generals and best 
troops were moved quickly to the Rumania front. 
With food and grease beyond the border the 
army could be counted on for heroic deeds. 

The first morning in Mannheim I woke sud- 
denly. For a moment I did n't realize where I 

185 



SHORT RATIONS 

was. I liad been given a parlor suite. I was 
lost in my gigantic sitting-room with five win- 
dows. I lay still a moment. Then gay music 
came floating through the window. It was that 
which had awakened me. I stepped out on my 
balcony. It was early, only seven. There was a 
drizzly rain. Not a pedestrian was on the street, 
but coming down the square was a regiment of 
soldiers. The band played cheerily, but the 
men's feet dragged. Tired eyes looked out of 
pale faces. Great God, how long was this horror 
to keep up! I felt as though I was going mad. 
To dine in a rose garden and awaken to such a 
scene. Germany was getting on my nerves. 

That morning our time was divided between 
a slaughter-house and a milk depot. These visits 
were intended to show Germany's great food 
supply. At the slaughter-yards were four great 
buildings for animals, but only one was occupied. 
A bullock was to be killed for our benefit. Poor, 
little lonely bullock. I was n't, of course, pres- 
ent at the death, but the men reporters crowded 
to the slaughter. There was something pathetic 
in the incident. Reporters from every quarter 
of the globe under the escort of prominent Ger- 
man citizens — assembled to see Germany kill 

186 



A TOUR FOR JOURNALISTS 

one bullock. It was the only creature slain dur- 
ing our hour's stay. The importance of the 
event demonstrated as nothing else could Ger- 
many's need. In fact the whole trip was evi- 
dence of that — " Why spend vast sums on lunch- 
eons and dinners to impress reporters? Why 
not let us make tours of inspection unsuper- 
vised? " 

In the milk depots there were four great tanks 
and only one in use. AH the cream from this 
supply was being turned into butter and put in 
cold storage. 

In another building a dozen women were cut- 
ting and drying vegetables, string beans and po- 
tatoes, and storing them in bags for the winter. 
But such work done by hand is a drop in the 
bucket. Hand labor could n't even supply an 
industrial center like Mannheim. 

At noon there was an elaborate luncheon in a 
hotel given by the Merchants' Association and 
after that a special treat. A Rhine steamboat 
had been chartered. It was decorated from stem 
to stern with gay flags and bunting. It looked 
like the Kaiser's yacht on a spree. The entire 
populace of Mannheim came to the river front 
to view it. This was the first evidence of luxury 

187 



SHORT RATIONS 

and festivity tlie city had had since the war. The 
crowd broke into cheers. It didn't know what 
it was cheering for, but it was good to yell for 
something. At departure ours was the only boat 
on the Rhine. Women and children ran along 
the banks and waved at us. At every little vil- 
lage the entire town turned out. To have some- 
thing happen was a godsend. For two years 
nothing had occurred but death notices. Dur- 
ing the afternoon our boat passed two others. 
The wharves along the river front were empty 
and still. This is the tragedy of Germany. Its 
internal silence and decay. Activity, except to 
create necessities, has stopped. There is no pil- 
ing up of goods for America. Smoke comes but 
from one factory in four. Supplies and workers 
are giving out. There is little leather. Chil- 
dren in Berlin are going barefoot. The blankets 
to go under horse saddles are giving out. Linen 
and cotton for fuses are running low. All the 
linen in Belgium has been appropriated. Rub- 
ber is very scarce. In a dark corner of a muni- 
tion factory I saw rubber tubes from hospital 
douche bags piled high to be turned into muni- 
tion. Every family has given all the brass or 
copper it had. Of what use are outer victories 

188 



A TOUR FOR JOURNALISTS 

when internally the kingdom cracks and 
crumbles. 

In gardens sun flowers are cherished instead 
of roses for they give a drop of oil. In barren 
fields an old woman and scarecrow keep guard. 
Or a woman with a baby in a carriage and two 
toddlers at her skirt tries to toss hay. And 
funereal wreaths pass and repass through the 
land. 

The soldiers at the front push forward, but at 
home death lurks. Under such circumstances of 
what avail are military triumphs and militar- 
ism? They are but hollow mockeries. 



189 



CHAPTER VII 

WOMEN FACTORY WORKERS 

E journalists had been five days on our 
sightseeing tour when we reached Mann- 
heim. On the sixth day came the trip on the 
Ehine. Our gayly decorated boat had a destina- 
tion. It was a large paper factory situated on 
the river bank. This factory manufactured 
many useful things besides paper. Silk was ex- 
tracted from wood fiber. Also a thread which 
when woven made sacks for the army. Burlap is 
scarce. The raw material was supplied by a lit- 
tle forest directly in the rear. The trees were 
cut down and shipped on a single rail track to 
the factory gates. Germany is using up her 
wood supply. The workers employed numbered 
a thousand as compared to two thousand before 
the war. The factory runs in two shifts, going 
night and day. There are several hundred 
women. Formerly, except for office work, there 
were none. The women perform heavy manual 

190 



WOMEN FACTOKY WOEKEES 

labor. A gang of them were aiding Eussian 
prisoners unload tree trunks. They were 
handling logs five times as big as themselves. 
Many of these women were mothers. They wore 
bloomers and had their feet swathed in rags. 
Their pay was from 2 to 3 marks (50 to 75 
cents) a day. The Eussian prisoners looked ut- 
terly wretched. They were thin and pale. 
They had great difficulty keeping up with the 
women. I commented on their appearance. 
"Yes," I was told, "they have a hard time. 
Their country doesn't send them any money. 
We try to give them a mark (24 cents) a day, but 
it is hard to live on that." As we passed out of 
sight of the prisoners I heard a German fore- 
man angrily order more speed. 

The German women and Eussian prisoners 
worked side by side without hostility. There is 
no conversation, but once I saw a woman secret- 
edly assist a sickly Eussian. It recalled the 
stories of German feminists. They were greatly 
enraged at the imprisonment of certain women. 
The German soldiers in Belgium, Poland, 
and elsewhere are encouraged to seek fe- 
male society. Children born from such unions 
are considered German, and therefore desired. 

191 



SHORT RATIONS 

But a German woman must not be friendly with 
a foreign prisoner. Even a mild flirtation or 
words of sympathy bring a prison sentence. If 
she should have a child it would hot be German. 
Such injustices do not go unnoticed. Women 
are thinking. The modern German woman 
reasons and backs her reason with passionate 
energy. Heaven help the Government if she 
once gets started. Something will give some- 
where. I asked the employer if the woman's 
labor was satisfactory. " Very," he said. 
u We will probably want to keep them after the 
war." 

As we left the factory the whistle blew. It 
was six p. m., and time for shifting workers. At 
the entrance were many tiny children and babies 
in baby carriages with eager faces and out- 
stretched arms waiting for Mother. 

As we boarded our resplendent craft the 
workers crowded to the river bank. They were 
silent but interested. It was something cheer- 
ful to see. This factory suburb had no 
" movies," no amusements, only dreary beer gar- 
dens, half-filled with sad, sorrowing people. 

That night we had dinner at Mannheim in the 
Eose Garden. A group of business men enter- 

192 



Hotel Marquardt 

5TUTT6ART 



Fleischloser Tag 

Bienatagt&en 29. August 1916 1 

MaimeM Suffle 
Rheimalm nitOzevettentunke 

S?inatbmtlinge 
Bndidien-Salat n.TOten RUhen 
IhUrtngex-Aejtfel 



Hndsrangsn Esrden 
Wonders berechnet. 



A facsimile of the luncheon menu card at the Hotel Marquardt Stuttgart. 

193 



SHORT RATIONS 

tained us. I could not drink to another un- 
known toast, so I raised my glass and tried iny 
hand, " Here 's to a just peace." Instantly every 
glass went up in joyful assent. The man next to 
me had tears in his eyes. Later he saw me to the 
hotel entrance, and as he stooped to kiss my hand 
said, " Thank you for that toast." 

Next day we went to Stuttgart. At the sta- 
tion no citizens greeted us. Other cities had 
feted us, but here two unknown men were our 
escort. We went to the best hotel, and ate our 
lunch unheralded. I managed to smuggle out 
the menu. The lunch consisted of soup, fish, spin- 
ach, lettuce salad and a cooked apple, and cost 
one dollar. 

There was no bread, butter or sugar. If you 
had a bread card you received one piece of bread. 
Such a meal has no substance. 

In the afternoon w T e visited a piano factory. 
It occupied half a block. There were perhaps 
two dozen workers, nearly all old men. It was a 
pitiful affair. The manager said he had ten 
times as many orders as he could fill. 

Citizens in neutral countries who have made 
fortunes want luxuries, but the piano manufac- 
turer could not get workers or wood. The white 

194 



WOMEN FACTORY WORKERS 

mahogany needed comes from America. Ger- 
many is not piling up goods. She has neither 
workers or raw material. Many factories are 
closed. 

That evening we journalists had again to be 
content with our own society. The Prussian 
Press was not looked upon with favor by the 
Duchy of Wiirttemberg. Permission had been 
given by the Prussian civil authorities to visit a 
Russian prison camp at Stuttgart but the Wiirt- 
temberg military authorities flatly refused ad- 
mittance. A reporter from Holland, disgusted 
with the little he had seen and the refusal to let 
him visit a prison camp, left in wrath. 

The next day the rest of us meekly inspected 
the Bosch munition factories. These factories 
formerly made magnetos. Now they turn out 
great quantities of munitions. Before the war 
there were 6000 workers. There are still that 
number. But formerly only 700 women were 
employed, now there are 4000. Women are han- 
dling big machines. They manage their elec- 
trically run engines swiftly and well. 

A member of the Bosch family was my guide. 
To my inquiries he replied, " The women work as 
well as men, but they can't repair their machines, 

195 



SHORT RATIONS 

and they get ill. Five times as many women as 
men have to be laid off each week." 

" Perhaps/' I suggested, " they get thinking 
about their men at the front." 

" No, that can't be," he said. " We speed up 
the machines and there is no time for thought." 

Of the 4000 women, 1200 were mothers. The 
best pay for the women was 50 pfennig or 12 
cents an hour, though for the same work a man 
received 80 pfennig or 19 cents. 

The Bosch factories run night and day in eight- 
hour shifts. Sometimes the same laborers work 
through two shifts. I asked about the home life 
of the women. The Social Worker at the fac- 
tory gave me several stories. This is one of 
them. " The woman you inquired about lives in 
a suburb. She must have been good-looking 
when she was young, but she has given birth to 
twelve children, the oldest is thirteen and the 
youngest six months. Four of her children died. 
Marie, the oldest girl, is thirteen; Wilhelm, 12; 
Gertrude, 10; Hilda, 7; Mina, 6; Helen, 4; Er- 
win, 3; and Gretel 6 months. Her husband 
worked for nine years in the factory. When the 
war broke out he was mobilized and joined the 
army August 4, 1914. Until then they had been 

196 



WOMEN FACTORY WOEKERS 

happy, but that changed everything. They had 
to move out of their house. They took an apart- 
ment of two rooms. It was crowded with nine 
people in two rooms, but they could not afford 
anything better. The birth of the last child 
caused the mother great suffering and she had 
to give up her factory work. Besides, the little 
children needed her at home. The imperial au- 
thorities give her 75 marks for her husband and 
the municipal authorities 20 marks for relief. 
Now that she is n't able to work, Mr. Bosch gives 
her 84 marks (half her husband's former wages) . 
Altogether she received 179 marks a month 
(about $44, but because of depreciation really 
less). She pays 20 marks ($4) for her rent. 
The woman is weak and much shaken in health. 
At night she worries about her husband and can- 
not sleep. She weeps a great deal and really the 
burden laid on her is almost too heavy. She 
said to me: "We could not possibly live if it 
was not for the Bosch allowance. All prices 
have gone up 100 per cent. In order to buy shoes 
one must do without almost everything else. I 
cannot go on much longer. I do not mean to 
complain, and I thank God for what I have had, 
but it exceeds the strength of one woman to pro- 

197 



SHOBT RATIONS 

vide clothes for eight little children and feed so 
many mouths regularly." 

But this woman is better off than most. 
Women generally have to live on the govern- 
ment allowance. In this case 95 marks a month. 
That is why so many mothers go to work. The 
mother's earnings, plus the husband's pay as a 
soldier, about equal the man's wages before the 
war. But prices have everywhere doubled. 

As we went through the factory we saw a group 
of one-armed men workers. They had the steel 
arms with iron hooks, the week-day arms. 

" We like," said Mr. Bosch, " to take wounded 
men. It makes them feel they are still men if 
they can work." 

" How much do they earn? " I inquired. 

Mr. Bosch stepped over to an energetic cripple 
and repeated my question. I was close at his 
heels, and I heard the answer, " Nothing at all." 
Nothing at all! Yet this man worked eight 
hours a day and handled a big machine. He had 
to live on the government pension. 

It was in the Bosch factories I spied the tell- 
tale pile of rubber tubing from douche bags. 
Bicycles in shop windows and on the street are 
tireless. On September 1st, there were no more 
. 198 



WOMEN FACTORY WORKERS 

rubber tires for automobiles. It is difficult to 
make munitions without rubber. The Bosch fam- 
ily have munition factories in America. It is the 
same concern and has a common capital. But 
Bosch in America, it was said, makes munitions 
for the Allies, while his brother, or his 
uncle (whichever the relationship is), makes 
munitions for Germany. The Social Democrats 
in Stuttgart got wind of this and broke 
out in revolt. Bosch was summoned to 
court and tried. But the judge exonerated him, 
saying : " Mr. Bosch has done nothing detri- 
mental to the interests of his country." This 
same judge was willing to imprison 400 persons 
for clamoring for peace. 

Life does not flow smoothly in Stuttgart. The 
people are restless. In the evening the workers 
crowd upon the street. I longed to investigate, 
but could not escape supervision. I decided to 
break way from the journalist expedition. Be- 
sides, on the following day I had agreed to meet 
my Berlin friend in Nuremberg. I feared to 
wire a change of plans lest we be prevented meet- 
ing. All her letters are opened, even those from 
her children. The military authorities supervise 
internal mail. Letters going from one part of 

199 



SHOET RATIONS 

Berlin to another are inspected. My notes were 
opened. 

The director of the expedition strenuously op- 
posed my departure. I escaped only by stating 
where I was going, to what hotel, and what train 
I should take. I was also obliged to visit the 
police and lay my plans before them. I boarded 
the train with a sigh of relief. It was good to be 
a little bit free again. My heart beat fast as we 
drew into Nuremberg at 8 P. m. Would my 
friend be there? Anxiously I scanned the long 
line of waiting people. Then my eye lighted on 
her. We fell into each other's arms. Lack of 
communication is a terrific strain. To live in a 
state of doubt and unrest is terrible. It gets on 
one's nerves. 

We went to the biggest and most expensive 
hotel. Many of the employees in such places 
are spies. They are not at all cordial. It is a 
disagreeable atmosphere, but to deliberately live 
where one can be watched is disarming. It 
makes one seem harmless. 

That evening before retiring we looked under 
the beds and in all the closets for spies. Then 
we settled down to a whispered heart-to-heart 
talk on Germany. For two days we had a heav- 

200 



WOMEN FACTORY WORKERS 

enly time. I wanted my friend to forget the 
horrors of war. One can almost do this in Nu- 
remberg. It is a sort of backwater. It breathes 
antiquity. It is quite outside modern life. Its 
quaint canals and bridges and old buildings date 
from the fourteenth century. Albert Dtirer's 
house is as it was in 1500. Wars flood the land, 
but here life remains the same. Yet Nuremberg 
suffers. Its prosperity depends on the tourists. 
Formerly one of the richest cities in Germany, 
it grows daily poorer. The woman guide in 
Dtirer's house was overjoyed to see us. She in- 
sisted on talking English. " It will give me a 
little practice," she said. " I have forgotten 
nearly all I know, and what shall I do when tour- 
ists come again? " 

From Nuremberg we went to Munich. The 
farther south we went, the richer grew the land. 
The country around Berlin is a barren desert by 
comparison. And with the increased fertility a 
corresponding change is noticeable in the people. 

The Prussians are cold and proud. The Ba- 
varians warm and friendly. In our second- 
class compartment was a Bavarian merchant. 
He was a man of means in the employ of the 
Government. We were in a nonsmoking com- 

201 



SHORT RATIONS 

partment, but we saw the gentleman cherishing 
good cigars. We won favor by suggesting he 
smoke. He began to talk freely. He had just 
returned from Switzerland. He displayed a 
choice brand of Parisian perfume. " It 's for 
my wife/' he said. " I managed to smuggle it 
through from Switzerland. Paid 20 marks for 
it. There is none to be had in Germany." After 
we had admired his purchase, he continued: 
" This war is terrible. I came back from Po- 
land a short time ago. The suffering is unbe- 
lievable. The children on the street are skin 
and bones. I began giving them pennies, but I 
saw it was useless. A little money is no good. 
Hundreds are starving. I am sure I don't know 
what we are coming to. Our own situation is 
bad. Now that Rumania has gone against us, 
the Russian will try to join her and cut us off 
from Turkey. Besides, Bulgaria isn't always 
friendly; she swings first one way and then an- 
other, and Greece is on the eve of revolution. 
But we must manage somehow. We can't af- 
ford to be cut off in the East." After a few 
moments' silence my friend ventured some re- 
marks concerning peace. The merchant con- 
tinued: "Every one wants peace, including 

202 



WOMEN FACTORY WORKERS 

the Government, but the Government is in a 
tight place. It doesn't dare to continue the 
war, and it 's afraid to make peace. There is 
no knowing what will happen when peace comes. 
Other nations won't have anything to do with 
Germany. There will be no trade. The peo- 
ple will riot. Germany won't be a fit place to 
live in." 

Our train was drawing into Munich and we 
said good-by to the friendly merchant. 

At the hotel we discovered one of the eminent 
citizens from Mannheim. He had been my con- 
stant companion during my stay there. Had he 
been sent to see if I had arrived in Munich and 
spy on my plans? We grew uneasy. Hence- 
forth we called all spies by his name, Danstar- 
ter. Every day we systematically searched our 
rooms for Mr. Danstarter. But we found the 
atmosphere of Munich freer and more cheerful 
than Berlin. The people and the animals look 
healthier; the fodder is better; the cattle are 
still fat; the people walk with a spring. They 
are sad and sorrowing, but still possess vitality. 
But the Bavarians begin to hate the Prussians. 
It crops out everywhere. The first morning in 
Munich the hotel chambermaid delivered herself 

203 



SHORT RATIONS 

of her emotions. We were not up — but en- 
couraged by our friendliness she stood at the 
foot of the bed and let forth a volume. "A 
curse on 1870," was her startling beginning. 
" It was a sad day for Bavaria when she tied 
up with Prussia. They are bleeding our coun- 
try to death. Twice as many Bavarians have 
been killed as Prussians. We have the worst of 
the fighting. Our men carried Verdun, twice 
by assault, and then the Prussians let it slip 
through their fingers. Our men were ordered to 
take it for the third time. They refused. Then 
Prussia said unless the men obeyed they would 
be shot. But our king answered, ' Not one one 
man shall die.' The King and the Kaiser have 
since made it up, but I tell you the Bavarians 
hate the Prussians. They are taking our food 
from us. We had butter, but now it is all gone. 
The Prussian organization does n't help the 
poor. We get nothing. If you beg you get a 
little help, otherwise nothing. We live on 
bread and potatoes. It 's all we have. In the 
spring the potatoes gave out. There were riots. 
A policeman was killed and several women were 
shot. I am not a Social Democrat, but I 'm be- 
ginning to feel they are right. I think the Ger- 

204 



WOMEN FACTORY WORKERS 

man Government wants to kill off a lot of the 
men so it can make the others do what they 
like. Nothing will happen now; we are help- 
less; but if our soldiers come back, then there 
will be a revolution. A little while ago two 
Bavarian regiments were sent to the front. They 
were fine young men. Each wore a flower in 
his button-hole. I saw them start off. They 
were sent straight to the firing-line. They 
stepped out of the cars into the middle of battle. 
Before they had walked a dozen steps every one 
was shot down. Those two regiments were en- 
tirely wiped out in a few minutes. I tell you 
we hate the Prussians. The Prussian officials 
in Bavaria are very strict. They are afraid 
we '11 go against them, and they are doing 
everything to prevent it. The King and the 
Kaiser are friends, but you wait until after the 
war ! " 

This news was vastly interesting. It was 
midday before we let our little maid go, or 
thought of getting up. Everywhere we went we 
heard the same story. The friction between 
Prussia and Bavaria is natural. The warm, 
friendly South is as different from the cold, 
stern North, as the French are from the Eng- 

205 



SHORT RATIONS 

lish. All sorts of forces are astir in Germany. 
The working people are nnfed and overworked 
and hate Prussian organization. The women see 
their babies go without milk and they hate Prus- 
sian organization. The women in the factories 
are paid less than the men and they hate Prus- 
sian organization. The soldiers are under- 
nourished and killed by the millions and they 
hate Prussian organization. The Liberals see 
that without universal democratic representa- 
tion they are helpless, and they hate Prussian 
organization. The duchies in the southeast are 
bled and they hate Prussian organization. This 
stored-up emotion must have an outlet. With 
peace will come the reckoning. 



206 



CHAPTER VIII 

PEACE MEETINGS IN MUNICH 

September, 1916. 
'UNICH still retains its attractiveness. Its 
buildings are varied and expressive, not 
well ordered and methodical. It has touches of 
Bohemia and Paris. Women sit at cafes and 
smoke, and little groups gather to discuss knotty 
problems. Spies are abroad, but despite them 
people talk. One evening I had several mem- 
bers of the Liebknecht clan at the hotel. For 
two hours we sat in the restaurant and de- 
nounced Prussian organization. When a waiter 
approached, voices dropped. Still we talked on. 
This would not have been possible in Berlin. 
But Bavaria is torn between two elements — 
the workers and the aristocrats. The wealthy 
have been Prussianized; the workers only to a 
small extent. This is how that happened. Offi- 
cial Germany tries to Prussianize her people 
through education. All schools are under cen- 

207 



SHORT RATIONS 

tral control. My friend in girlhood was a 
teacher. Though a German for generations, she 
conies of Jewish stock. In her native town far 
from Berlin she taught history. When the cen- 
tral school authorities learned of this, they sent 
the following order to the school principal: 
" Do not let that young woman teach history. 
Only a Prussian may teach German history. Let 
her teach mathematics." 

But Prussia has made one great mistake. A 
high school education must be paid for. Free 
education stops with the grammar school. The 
poor are not as Prussianized as the rich. Army 
officers must have a high school education. 
Consequently officers come from the wealthy class 
and are Prussianized. But the uneducated are 
free to think. And Bavarians think. The peo- 
ple's influence is everywhere manifest. The 
food distribution is fairer. Wild birds are to 
be had without meat cards, but not chickens or 
ducks. For all supplies, visitors must have 
cards. The hotels furnish only bread and meat 
tickets. I refused to go through the red tape 
needed to secure magistrate's cards for other edi- 
bles. The result made meals frugal. Eagerly 
I would scan a bill of fare. My eye would light 

208 



PEACE MEETINGS IN MUNICH 

on a pudding. Pudding is a luxury. " I '11 
have some/' I 'd order. " I 'in sorry, Madame/' 
the waiter would reply, "but the pudding con- 
tains an egg and you have no egg card." In 
despair I would turn to something else. " Give 
me this/' I would urge. But again would come 
the answer, " I 'm sorry, Madame, but that con- 
tains meal and you have no meal card." Food 
is richer in Munich than in Berlin, for fodder is 
better and the animals fatter. But I had less 
to eat than in Prussia. 

Yet in spite of Bavaria's attempt to democ- 
ratize food, her poor go hungry. As in Berlin, 
there are long lines of people struggling for po- 
tatoes. The wages of unskilled workers have 
not perceptibly increased. The poor can't af- 
ford the city feeding kitchens. Munich is one 
of Germany's richest cities but it has extreme 
poverty. Its slums are picturesque but relics 
of the Dark Ages. In one section is a group of 
tiny, cellarless houses. They have quaint gables 
and chimneys, and look big enough for Tom 
Thumb and his wife. But they hang over dirty 
little canals. They have no running water. A 
toilet and a pump common to all is situated in 
the street. Ill health is the result. 

209 



SHORT RATIONS 

The Social Democrats are indignant over this 
sore. They resent such wretchedness in wealthy 
Munich. "People are starving," they declare, 
and sent me to a church to see poverty at its 
worst. The church belongs to a group of Do- 
minican monks. The friars beg on the street 
corner for food. Whatever they get they put 
into a big pot and boil. The liquid mass so 
made is served each day free to the poor. The 
hour for distribution is noon. At eleven, hu- 
manity's dregs begin to assemble — tottering old 
men with white beards and tattered clothes, 
skinny, bent old women swathed in rags, and 
barefooted, dirty, ghastly pale children. Some of 
the children had a cup. They mean to take a 
portion of slops home to mother or grandmother. 
But most could n't affords cups. They possessed 
only a spoon. The stench from the thin, brown 
liquid was nauseating. A big, iron pot was 
placed on a stool. The little crowd gathered 
about. There were no chairs. Tottering old 
people and tiny children huddled over the sick- 
ening mess. Simultaneously they dove in 
spoons and began shoveling down the liquid. 
The lips sucked in. There were gurgles and 
snorts. They were like dogs about a bone. 

210 



PEACE MEETINGS IN MUNICH 

They snatched and shoved and grunted. One 
old man, luckier than the rest, possessed a 
cup. In spite of his rags he was stately. He 
had white hair and a white beard and a splen- 
didly shaped head. He looked a second Carlyle. 
He took his cup to the churchyard. But there 
he stood. He was too hungry to go farther. He 
drank ravenously and licked every inch of the 
cup. A terrible nausea seized me. I turned 
away, shaken. I still had some money from 
the Christian Work Fund. I turned to the 
young Social Democrat. 

" I know it is n't solving any problem," I said, 
" but let 's feed them." 

She nodded and her face lighted up. " Sup- 
pose we take them to the City feeding kitchen," 
she suggested. 

I agreed. We lined up the little company. 
They couldn't believe the news. Each was 
afraid to be last lest he be left. Down the street 
we went, a great row of bowed and bent old 
people shuffling after, and little children cling- 
ing to our skirts. We bought meal tickets for 
each for a week. As the checks were handed 
out a gnarled and twisted old figure would shoot 
down the entrance hall to the big eating room. 

211 



SHORT RATIONS 

Youth for a moment came back to those tottering 
feet. They ran half tumbling. There was no 
time for thanks. Death was at the door and life 
had suddenly been thrust out to them. 

We stayed with the children. There were 
nine in one family. The father was in the war 
and the mother ill in bed. Another group of 
seven had no mother, and the father was in a 
munition factory. We bought these families 
meal tickets for a month. I turned over all that 
remained of the Christian Work Fund, and 
asked my young guide to buy as many meal tick- 
ets as possible for unfed school children. 

This is one side of Munich. But there is an- 
other. Munich does n't indulge in material lux- 
uries. There are no private autos, but it does 
continue to keep up its intellectual refinements. 
Concerts and grand opera prosper. My friend 
and I went to hear Parsifal. We paid 34 marks 
for two ordinary seats. The theater where the 
performance is given is a small opera house, 
perfect in every way. The ground floor is de- 
voted to a big eating hall and buffet, which are 
very popular between acts. The performance be- 
gan at five. Every person was promptly in his 
seat. Culture was written large across each face. 

212 



PEACE MEETINGS IN MUNICH 

A slender, ultra-refined mother in deep mourning 
sat directly behind me. On her right side was 
a son in soldier's uniform, on her left two more 
sons under sixteen in deep mourning. An in- 
tellectual calm brooded over the place. There 
was no chatter, even the young boys were silent. 
The lights went out. For five minutes we sat 
in darkness and pondered. Then soft music 
lulled our nerves. When the world had quite 
been eliminated, the lights came on and the 
opera began. It was a gorgeous display of light 
and color, music and incense. The rich red vel- 
vet robes of the Parsifal priests, the goblet of 
wine which turned to fiery red as the Holy Spirit 
in the form of a dove descended, the sing- 
ing, music, everything combined to stir, elate, and 
soothe mind and senses. The audience was 
transported from the twentieth century back to 
the Middle Ages. But something in me rebelled. 
I felt I was being drugged. I and the others 
were being hypnotized into a disregard of reality. 
The lesson preached was : " Forget the present, 
live for the hereafter. Only one thing matters 
— " Kultur." It must be spread over the earth 
though mankind be destroyed in the process." 
But suddenly a picture of the battlefield flashed 

215 



SHOKT RATIONS 

upon Hie with its millions of dead. I saw the 
little group at the church eating like dogs. Hell 
raged on earth. 

At the end of the first act I said to my friend : 
" I ? ve got to get out and get some air." 

As we walked on the terrace my friend clung 
to my arm. " Don't you like it? " she asked. 

" It 's beautiful but suff ocating," was my an- 
swer. 

Suddenly she turned and hugged me. " Thank 
God," she said. " I was afraid you 'd be carried 
away with its beauty like the rest." 

" You mean," I said, " it 's this sort of thing 
that is taking intellectual freedom out of Ger- 
many? " 

" That ? s it. Even art and literature are or- 
ganized. There 's no originality, no new 
thought, no progress. We live on the glories 
of the past. Technique and appreciation have 
been raised to the n th power, but we don't encour- 
age the new." 

As we went home that evening I thought much 
of our talk. Germany is producing a very defi- 
nite culture, but it is a culture that is like Dres- 
den china. Dresden china epitomizes modern 
German art. Exquisite, perfect in detail and 

216 



PEACE MEETINGS IN MUNICH 

color, but dead, lacking in fire, virility, and 
griping force. 

But Munich is the most interesting spot in 
Germany. The middle class, as well as the un- 
skilled workers, struggle against this relentless 
organization and seek expression. In Munich I 
found the friend to whom I had wired so per- 
sistently from Copenhagen and from whom I 
could get no reply. Her silence was soon ex- 
plained. She is the leader of the German 
branch of the Women's International Peace 
party, of which Jane Addams is president. She 
has steadily worked for peace. A year ago she 
was present at a peace meeting of Social Demo- 
crats. At that time one of the men urged upon 
the women the country's need of children. He 
said : " Remember we need sons for the Revo- 
lution, as well as for war." Color rushed into 

Fraulein H 's face, anger blazed in her eyes, 

and from the floor of the house she made a pas- 
sionate appeal. " Do not bring children into the 
world unless we have the assurance of the men 
that they shall not be food for cannon," was the 
substance of her speech. 

Next morning bright and early a policeman 

presented himself at Fraulein H- 's home. 

217 



SHOKT RATIONS 

He sat on the edge of a chair and fumbled with 
his hat. He was a Bavarian and had known 

Fraulein H from girlhood. He knew she 

was a woman of wealth and high standing. He 
was much embarrassed. As a Bavarian he de- 
tested Prussian policy but he had to do Ms duty, 
so he handed out the military order. 

Henceforth Fraulein H was forbidden to 

speak in public, nor might she have more than 
five people in her house at a time, nor could she 
send any telegram or letter outside the country, 
and all her German mail was to be opened 
and inspected. This was why I hadn't heard. 
Vainly she had tried to telegraph, and in the 
end had gotten the friend with whom she lives 
to wire, trusting I would understand. These 
two women own a country house in Bavaria and 
an apartment in Munich. They knew intimately 
my friend from Berlin. We four spent absorb- 
ing days together. If it had not been for the 
streets filled with soldiers and sorrowing people 
and the shortage of food, I should have forgotten 
where I was. These women loved the same 
books, the same pictures, the same works of art, 
as corresponding groups of women in England 
and America. Language was the only differ- 

218 



PEACE MEETINGS IN MUNICH 

ence. When I sat iu the Munich apartment, I 
might have been in my studio in Washington 
Square. We possessed the same customs, the 
same habits, talked of the same things. To sup- 
pose that Germans are born of an alien strain 
is an absurdity. If anything, these German 
women were superior to any I had known. They 
had sounded the depth of emotion, had more 
passionate energy, and were less conventional 
than the same group in my own country. They 
are an element Germany will have to reckon 
with. 

One night we went to a big peace meeting. It 
was under the auspices of the major wing of 
the Social Democratic party. The Liebknecht 
people are not allowed to hold meetings in Mu- 
nich any more than in Berlin. But peace meet- 
ings, in spite of restrictions, are popular. The 
military authorities see to it that the peace terms 
asked for are confined to demands of the status 
quo before war. No discussion is allowed. At 
this meeting there were perhaps two thousand 
people. It was held in a great hall. The floor 
was covered with little tables. Beer still flows 
in Munich. Both the floor and the galleries 
were packed. People stood about the sides of 

219 



SHORT RATIONS 

the room and in the aisles. Men predominated. 
Even soldiers in uniform were present. My 
friends and I sat near the front. Friiulein 

H is a member of neither the Liebknecht 

group nor the major wing of the Social Demo- 
cratic party. The former she feels are too ex- 
treme, the latter not radical enough, about 
peace. Except for our group, the audience was 
made up chiefly of factory workers. It was a 
keen, alert crowd. The faces were thoughtful 
and showed much character. These people were 
not sheep — they were fighters. There was 
much suppressed emotion, frequent applause 
and cheers. The speaker said : " The days of 
' Got t Straff e England ' are over. We hope the 
time will soon come when Germans will no 
longer be called Barhars and Bodies. Perhaps 
this can best be brought about by promoting the 
cause of peace. It certainly is distressing to 
find other nations hating Germany. It will be 
difficult to carry on trade after the war. There 
will be no work for the workers. It is essential 
that peace be made as soon as possible. When 
it comes perhaps enmity will cease. Witness 
how Austria and Germany had overlooked 
differences and come together [laughter], and 

220 



PEACE MEETINGS IN MUNICH 

how friendly Prussia and Bavaria now are." 
[Long derisive laughter which stopped the speech 
for a few moments.] 

The speaker then went on to discuss economic 
conditions. He spoke of the suffering of the 
poor, and said : " The Government has wholly 
failed to live up to its promise that women and 
children should be cared for and not suffer when 
their men went to war." 

He then spoke of Von Hollweg and praised 
him for his peace talk. [Applause.] He 
pointed out the difference between Von Holl- 
weg's desire for peace and Von Tirpitz's policy 
of submarine frightfulness. He denounced the 
policy of frightfulness. [Applause.] Then he 
spoke of the peace petition that had been drawn 
up. He read the peace proposals which pro- 
vided for peace on the basis of status quo be- 
fore the war and urged every one to sign the 
petition. At the close of the meeting he called 
for a rising vote on the peace petition. Every 
one in the room, except my friends, stood up. 

Fraulein H , as a member of the Woman's 

International, wanted freedom for Poland and 
plebiscite vote for Alsace and Lorraine. My 
friend from Berlin as a Liebknecht person also 

221 



SHORT RATIONS 

wanted more liberal terms. But the audience 
didn't understand. It thought we were averse, 
to peace. Angry people crowded around us. 
We were pushed and shoved. I feared Fraulein 

H would be hit. Several women were 

shaking their fists. One was yelling : " My 
husband was killed at the front; how dare you 
not want peace?" Another: "My son has 
been killed and my husband wounded, how dare 
you refuse to sign the petition? " I did my best 
to push the crowd back. We struggled to the 

street, but Fraulein H had her hair pulled 

down and we were considerably mauled before 
we made the entrance. 

Then Fraulein H turned upon her tor- 
mentors. She had been powerless in the meet- 
ing for the police had ordered her not to speak, 
but in the open she risked it. She is a tall, slen- 
der woman, with golden hair and blue eyes — a 
madonna woman — but in her burns white heat. 
Turning on the crowd and shaking her fist, she 
hurled at them : " I want peace, but I want a 
real peace. I am more radical than you." A 
man in the crowd, evidently one of the Social 
Democratic leaders, came to our side. He told 

the people who Fraulein H was and what 

222 



PEACE MEETINGS IN MUNICH 

she stood for. Abashed, the people moved on 
and we slipped out into the cool night. 

Yes — German women have courage. They 
are not sheep. The people in Germany grow rest- 
less. In Munich I saw their force. The Kaiser 
has not an easy life ahead. There was one other 
woman I wished to talk with — Clara Zetkin. 
She and Liebknecht have fought side by side for 
the same ends. She is the leader of the radical 
women of that party, as he is of the men. I 
spoke to my Berlin friend of my desire. She 
thought it dangerous, but agreed to the under- 
taking. Clara Zetkin was imprisoned last spring 
because of her fight for peace. She remained in 
prison several months. Then she was released 
on 5000 marks bail, pending her new trial. She 
is a woman over sixty and has developed serious 
heart trouble. The authorities feared she would 
die on their hands. She lives in Stuttgart — a 
four hours' trip from Munich. It was impossi- 
ble to make the trip in a day, but if I left Mu- 
nich for overnight the passport regulations re- 
quired me to go to the police and state where 
I was going. I decided to break the law. At 
noon one day my Berlin friend and I took the 
train for Stuttgart. We kept our room at the 

223 



SHORT RATIONS 

hotel in Munich. We took no baggage. We 
told no one of our plans. We hoped in this 
way to avoid detection. We traveled third 
class. There are fewer spies in the third 
class. We arrived in Stuttgart at six. We 
ate a hasty dinner at the Rathhaus cafe. That 
restaurant is on the market square. There 
was the same stir and restlessness among the 
people I had noticed on my previous visit to 
Stuttgart. Long lines of people were waiting 
to buy supplies. That evening it was butter. 
But the butter gave out before the end of the line 
was reached. The women grew angry and shook 
their fists, the police drove them away, but the 
women went unwillingly. They turned and 
shouted angrily at the policemen. 

After we had eaten, we took a. car to the sub- 
urbs. They are quite a distance from the city. 
When we reached the end of the car line there 
was still three quarters of an hour's walk 
through a lonely wood. The darkness was clos- 
ing in. The sky was overcast with heavy clouds. 
As we started down the road we noticed a man 
on the opposite side of the street. We were 
passing the last house — a little store. My 

224 



PEACE MEETINGS IN MUNICH 

friend pulled my arm. We stopped and gazed 
in the store window. " He is a spy," she whis- 
pered. We turned and walked in the opposite 
direction. Sure enough the man ahead had 
crossed the street and was coming back after us. 
We walked on until we came to a post-office. 
There we turned in and made inquiries about 
our way. When we emerged the man was not 
to be seen. We started off again down the lonely 
road. This time no man followed us. It began 
to rain. A terrific storm had arisen. There 
were mighty crashes of thunder and brilliant 
flashes of lightning; the rain came in great 
sheets. The one umbrella was no protection. 
We grew soaked, but we thrudged on along the 
lonely road lined with great trees. At last we 
saw a light. We were coming to a little vil- 
lage. The second house was Clara Zetkin's. 
She was in, of course. Alone, except for a great 
dog and one maid. Her husband drives an am- 
bulance for the German Bed Cross, and her two 
sons are surgeons in base hospitals at the front. 
She was delighted to see us. We had only in- 
tended to make a call, but outside the storm 
raged. Our hostess would not listen to our leav- 

225 



SHOKT EATIONS 

ing on such a night. We accepted her invita- 
tion. It was dangerous to stay, but better to 
stay than go. We settled down for a long talk, 
or rather we let Clara Zetkin talk. She is like 
a blazing comet — over sixty, with white hair 
and shaken with illness, she fights on. One mo- 
ment she was pouring forth a torrent of words, 
the next stricken with pain she lay white and 
gasping on the sofa, but in an instant she was 
up again continuing her discourse. Liebknecht's 
imprisonment had been a great blow. Imprison- 
ment of nearly all of the leaders had seriously 
handicapped the work. "We can do nothing 
now," she said, "but if peace comes you will 
see. The thing I fear is slow starvation. Half- 
fed people have no life. If there were no food 
there would be rebellion, but this — no. We 
must wait for peace." 

Outside, the storm continued. The rain beat 
against the window panes, while this little woman 
talked on. In the morning I might be arrested, 
but for the moment I did n't care. It had been 
splendid to see what I had seen — Germany 
awakening. If all this passionate energy breaks 
through Prussian organization, what a Germany 
it will be. America is awake but crude; she is 

226 



PEACE MEETINGS IN MUNICH 

original but lacks method. If Germany makes 
her technique, and industrial efficiency the serv- 
ants of man instead of his masters, she will lead 
the world. 



227 



CHAPTER IX 

THE ESCAPE FROM GERMANY 

MY friend and I spent a restless night. To 
be in the home of the leader of the women 
radicals was dangerous. If discovered, we 
would be suspected of spreading underground 
propaganda. All night the storm raged outside. 
At daylight the door bell rang. My heart beat 
violently . Surely it was the police. But it was 
only a messenger. Early in the morning we 
made a hasty departure. Clara Zetkin was up 
before us. The work of the radicals has doubled 
since Liebknecht's imprisonment. There are few 
now to carry it on. Mehring, the editor of their 
paper, has been imprisoned. A letter of his to 
Liebknecht's lawyer was opened. In it he 
showed knowledge of the Liebknecht demonstra- 
tion before it occurred. Mehring is a man of 
seventy-three and a scholar, but this was enough 
to condemn him to penal servitude. 

Clara Zetkin walked with us toward Stutt- 
228 



THE ESCAPE FROM GERMANY 

gart, her great mastiff by her side. We went 
back through the same lonely wood. Occasion- 
ally we heard footsteps. Once we saw a man 
in among the trees. Perhaps he was a spy. As 
we started down into the valley Clara Zetkin's 
lonely figure stood out above us on the hill. It 
was a frail figure worn with struggle but in the 
eyes burned the passion of a martyr. Such a 
spirit cannot be beaten. 

As soon as we reached Stuttgart my friend 
and I went to the station. We took the first 
train to Munich. When we arrived we saun- 
tered leisurely into our hotel. We acted as if 
we had never been away, but our night's absence 
was known. The hotel employees looked at us 
coldly. I had planned to leave for Switzerland 
the following morning. My American passport 
included that country. But it is n't easy to get 
out of Germany. At least four days before de- 
parture you must go to the police, deliver up 
your passport, and be finger-printed. This 
identification, three portraits, and a personal 
description are sent to the frontier. Then 
twenty-four hours before leaving you return to 
the police, get your passport, and have it vised. 
This compels residence for four days in one spot 

229 



SHORT RATIONS 

and I had been in Stuttgart for a night without 
a passport. 

After we reached Munich my friend and I 
went to the police. It was an exciting moment. 
Had my adventure come to official ears? Evi- 
dently not, for my papers were promptly de- 
livered. The Bavarian police are friendly, but 
the military authorities are not. They are Prus- 
sian. I had to go to the latter about my letters 
and manuscript. During our journalist tour we 
had been given material on every phase of Ger- 
man organization. No exj)ense had been spared 
to equip us with the right kind of news for 
America. This literature I took to the military 
authorities. The civil and military groups are 
not in harmony. Their difference is that of Von 
Hollweg and Von Tirpitz. 

" This material,'' I explained, " has been given 
me by the Berlin authorities. I should be glad 
to take it to Switzerland and ship it to America." 

The officer shook his head. " It can't go," was 
his terse reply. 

" But," I protested, " the Berlin officials spent 
a lot of money to get the material and they said 
it should go if it had to be sent by the Deutsch- 
land." 

230 



THE ESCAPE FEOM GERMANY 

" It does n't make any difference what they 
said," was the rejoinder. il These papers sha'n't 
leave the country." 

I shrugged my shoulders. It was silly to let me 
travel about and yet forbid German propaganda 
to pass. In the end, a few picture post-cards of 
Bismarck and Kaiser " Denkmals," and some 
pamphlets on German Red Cross work were 
done up in a sealed packet for transportation. 
The remaining material had to be left in Ger- 
many. This experience taught me it was useless 
to carry any news notes openly. But how smug- 
gle them through? I had not spent a voluntary 
week in prison in vain. I ripped open the lining 
of my dress suit case and laid in my papers. 
Then I bought glue and stuck the lining together. 

The next morning I boarded the" train for the 
frontier. My friend from Berlin went with me. 
As we sped through the country I took my last 
glimpses of Germany. The land was desolate. 
No wagons or autos on the country roads, only 
now and then a lonely woman in a big field. One 
Sunday we had made an expedition from Mu- 
nich into the mountains. We visited a fashion- 
able summer resort. Rich people were still oc- 
cupying the hotels. There was more comfort 

231 



SHOKT RATIONS 

liere than I had found anywhere. We had a 
cup of real coffee and cafe kuclien that could 
be eaten. But in a near-by village we found the 
people hungry. In one cottage was a woman 
who had given six sons to the war. She and 
her three grandchildren hadn't enough to eat. 
They were living on potatoes and a tea substi- 
tute. She drew a small pension from the im- 
perial authorities. This used to be augmented 
by a municipal fund. But the town now had 
no money for pensions. This grandmother was 
trying to live on six dollars a month. 

As our train sped past little villages I won- 
dered how many families were pensionless. In 
our railway carriage was a soldier home on a 
three weeks' leave. He was eager to talk. He 
wanted diversion. He was a man of means; 
about forty years of age, and extremely well 
educated. For fifteen months he had been at the 
front. 

" I will never go back," was his ultimatum. 
" I '11 make myself ill or do some injury to my- 
self, if they try to send me." 

" Was it so terrible? " we asked. 

"Worse than any civilian can realize. I re- 
fused to go as an officer, but took the position 

232 



THE ESCAPE FROM GERMANY 

of sergeant. I wanted to get into the war and 
see what it was like. The common soldiers 
weren't considered any more than a pack of 
animals. They were killed off like flies. I 'm 
not a Social Democrat. I have never thought 
much of the working people, but I knew those 
men. They each had a mother, a wife, or a sweet- 
heart, and they were mowed down like things." 

We were silent a moment. Then we asked, 
" Do you think the men at the front learn pa- 
triotism? " 

He smiled a quizzical smile. " Patriotism ! 
Yes, we learn a real patriotism. That it does n't 
make any difference where you live as long as 
there isn't war." He paused a moment and 
then continued : " Germany won't be fit to live 
in after the war. The hardships will be fright- 
ful. I 've transferred all my property to Swit- 
zerland. I will go there the first moment I can. 
Germany has a bill ready which she will pass 
as soon as peace comes. It will prevent Ger- 
mans emigrating. Every one will be needed to 
bring back prosperity, but I mean to get out 
somehow." 

The soldier left before we reached our desti- 
nation. I was glad we were alone. My jour- 

233 



SHOBT RATIONS 

nalist notes had begun to worry me. I examined 
my dress suit case. The German glue was a 
failure. The lining was loose except for one 
spot. Concealed beneath that was a newspaper 
clipping, telling of the Munich peace meeting. 
Here the lining held, because I had moistened 
and used the dried American glue. I decided 
to leave the clipping but removed my pencil notes. 
After much thought I copied these on tissue 
paper. Then I ripped open the heavy cloth 
straps of my English raincoat. I moistened the 
tissue paper, laid it inside the straps and sewed 
them together. It was a wonderful hiding 
place. You couldn't feel a thing, even though 
you squeezed the cloth between your fingers. 

By this time we were nearing the frontier. I 
began to be very nervous. From the train we 
went into a little waiting-room. There were 
about twenty other travelers. My friend was 
still with me. At last my name was called. I 
wrung my friend's hand. Was it to be my last 
glimpse? It tore my heart to leave her to her 
desolate country. In a minute I was sitting in 
a tiny room before a white sheet. There were 
two holes in the sheet. Eyes were looking out 
at me through those holes. It was uncanny. I 

234 



THE ESCAPE FKOM GERMANY 

was as shivery as when we played Blue Beard 
as children. Questions were asked me. But all 
the German I had learned vanished. I sat quite 
still and looked outwardly calm, but inwardly 
my heart went like a trip hammer. An inter- 
preter was summoned. My papers were exam- 
ined. The interpreter was scornful. He made 
some sarcastic remarks but did not question me. 
Then I was led into another room. There was 
my luggage. It was spread out on a long bench. 
I saw I was not to get out of Germany as easily 
as I had got in. My two valises and carry-all, 
all the baggage I had, were opened. Every item 
was examined. Each stocking turned inside 
out. Every scrap of underwear held up to the 
light and each seam examined. It was very dis- 
concerting. The soldiers' eyes went from me 
to my clothes. It isn't easy to act innocent. 
Finally the suitcases were emptied. Then it 
was their turn to be examined. Thank God I 
had removed my notes. The soldiers' fingers 
went over every speck of the lining. I held my 
breath. But the newspaper clipping couldn't 
be felt. The loosened lining concealed no se- 
crets. Its dangling condition was disarming. 
I swallowed thankfully as the things were put 

235 



SHORT RATIONS 

back. My raincoat was shaken out, that was 
all. But the officers were evidently surprised 
that they had unearthed no secrets. They were 
still not friendly. I asked if I might go, but 
they shook their heads. Just then a whistle 
blew. The little boat that was to take me across 
Lake Constance to Switzerland was leaving. 

Then the door opened and my friend was 
shown in. I was so glad to see her, I forgot my 
disappointment at being detained. Hurriedly 
she explained. " The officer says he has a ' de- 
nunciation ' against you. He says they have 
been all through your things and found noth- 
ing. That is in your favor, but they are n't go- 
ing to let you across the frontier to-night. You 
will have to stay at a hotel in the town." 

It was evident some spy had told tales. My 
friend and I exchanged glances but said noth- 
ing. An officer was standing guard with an at- 
tentive ear. I decided to leave my luggage with 
the officials. Those newspaper clippings made it 
risky, but it looked well. I took my toilet ar- 
ticles and left with my friend. We found an 
attractive hotel facing the lake. The town of 
Lindau has considerable charm. It does not 
seem to be fortified. There are no visible 

236 



THE ESCAPE FROM GERMANY 

trenches. It looks as though the people of Swit- 
zerland could come straight into Germany across 
Lake Constance. But Lindau was full of sol- 
diers and spies. When my friend and I were 
safely in a hotel, she started to talk about the 
concealed papers. But I motioned for silence 
and pointed to a door leading into an adjoin- 
ing room. There was a big crack and a key- 
hole, any one hiding on the other side could see 
and hear everything. My friend understood. 
By common consent we confined our conversation 
to clothes, weddings, and feminine topics. 

Later that evening we went out for a walk. 
Then in whispers we discussed the " denuncia- 
tion." My friend was indignant. " You have n't 
done a speck of harm ; you 're an American, and 
have a right to go anywhere. Besides you've 
been feeding German mothers and babies. I told 
the officer you had and that he had no right to 
treat you so." 

But I did not agree with my friend. It was 
war and I was a journalist. Besides I had made 
an unreported visit to Stuttgart. True I had 
not been to the front and I knew no military 
secrets. But I had my journalist notes. If 
discovered they would not be tolerated and my 

237 



SHOET RATIONS 

deception would have brought temporary im- 
prisonment. It was not easy to sleep that night. 
But fear breeds craftiness. As I undressed I 
did it for the benefit of the keyhole. I carefully 
shook out each garment and cast it carelessly 
aside. In the bathroom were two bungholes. 
Through them it was easy for any one on the 
outside to see what was going on within. I kept 
these holes in my mind throughout my toilet. 

Next morning we were up early. A boat for 
Switzerland left shortly after eight. I think it 
was my cheerfulness and unconcern won the day. 
The officer told my friend I had been seen in a 
railway carriage when I was supposed to be in 
Munich. " But," he added, " the spies half the 
time don't know what they are about." The 
officers had grown friendly. They had come to 
the conclusion I w T as harmless. This treatment 
made my conscience prick as their suspicions of 
the night before hadn't. I was not personally 
examined nor was my luggage re-examined, but 
when I had once passed the roped-off inclosure, 
I was not allowed to speak to my friend. I 
stood on the boat's deck and she on the shore. 

Now that I was off, I hated to go. As the 
boat pulled out my friend still stood there. As 

238 



THE ESCAPE FROM GERMANY 

long as I could see her her hand was waving a 
last farewell. During my stay in Germany, she 
had understood, protected, and cared for me. 
She loved her country as few do. So much that 
she could see its faults. She wanted the world 
to know the truth. She wanted the help of all 
mankind in the struggle for democracy. To 
leave her seemed like deserting the ship. Yet 
as the boat drew close to the land on the other 
side a flood of joy seized me. I grew tremen- 
dously excited. I had not realized how exiled I 
had felt. One wireless message three weeks old 
had been my only connection with America. 

It was a deserted village at which we landed. 
There were few people about, no soldiers, and 
no entrenchment. There seemed to be no bar- 
riers against Germany. And the blight of Ger- 
many seemed to have extended to this spot. It 
was so still. But had it? A thought came to 
me — bread, butter, coffee. I made for the near- 
est restaurant. For a solid hour, I consumed 
bread, butter, coffee, cream, and sugar. I had 
no other desire in life. I hadn't known how I 
missed these things. I put great chunks of but- 
ter on my bread and ate it like candy. It was 
exactly like getting oiled up. My tense nerves 



SHORT EATIONS 

began to relax. In a short time iny train ar- 
rived. Then as it sped on through the country 
I saw I was in a new world. On the country 
road were autos. I was fascinated by their new- 
ness and speed. At the stations were crowds 
of men, young men in business clothes. I 
could n't take my eyes off them and the milk 
cans. How Germany transports the little milk 
she has, I don't know, for I realized in traveling 
I had n't seen a milk can. The world suddenly 
seemed flooded with men and milk cans. Pres- 
ently I began to notice my fellow passengers, 
and I saw they also looked strange. They had 
fat hands and great fat figures. To my unac- 
customed eye they looked enormously big. Then 
they laughed and talked. Their eyes were bright 
and they had rosy cheeks. 

In the dining car we had a huge meal, six 
courses, two kinds of meat, and a salad reeking 
with oil. But suddenly something within me re- 
coiled. I found I could n't swallow. It was 
like coming from a funeral into a land of laugh- 
ter. It all seemed wrong. No one was thinking 
of the dead. I wanted to cry out to these fat, 
complacent, jolly people: "How can you? 
Don't you understand? People are suffering. 

240 



THE ESCAPE FROM GERMANY 

A nation is dying. What right have you to be 
thoughtless? Please respect the dead." I 
pushed back my plate. I couldn't eat. For a 
long time I sat thinking. But as the hours wore 
on I noticed another great change had taken 
place. When I entered the train every one was 
talking German. It was as it had been in Ger- 
many. But now my ear caught French. A 
lump came in my throat. It was so good to hear 
a language I understood. We had passed from 
German Switzerland into French. At Berne 
there had been a great exodus and influx. The 
new arrivals were a different type. The few 
who remained in the car changed their language. 
We had passed from Germany into France. A 
real frontier had been crossed. But no one came 
to examine my luggage or me. 

What a topsy-turvy world it was. German 
Switzerland is completely German, French 
Switzerland equally French, and Italian Swit- 
zerland Italian. An imaginary line holds them 
together. If Switzerland went to war it would 
probably fly into its component parts. So great 
is the division in sentiment. In Berne the peo- 
ple were hotly for Germany. In Geneva pas- 
sionately for France. 

241 



SHORT RATIONS 

I traveled through to Geneva. It was good 
to be In a land where I could talk freely. I en- 
joyed the real coffee, the rich food, the crowded 
cafes. For a day it was like a release from 
prison. Then I discovered life in Switzerland 
was distressing. The land is deluged with 
spies, both French and German. I had two 
groups to watch me. The Germans were most 
active. Wherever I went some man followed me. 
All Switzerland is a hotbed of plots and counter- 
plots. People do not trust one another. How 
can they? One group fights for Germany, the 
other for France. And Switzerland is a land of 
tragedies. They hit the eye wherever one walks. 
The country is inhabited by trembling, old peo- 
ple, in deep mourning. Their sons are all dead. 
They have come here to forget. These sorrow- 
ing aged ones bring tiny grandchildren. The 
land swarms with curly-haired, dancing-eyed, 
pink and white perfections in babyhood. They 
are the prize children the belligerent nations are 
trying to save. Beside this mixture of old and 
young, there is the awful human wreckage of 
war. Soldiers who have gone crazy and walk 
with shuffling feet and hanging mouths, tuber- 
cular warriors, gasping and white, and men who 

242 



THE ESCAPE FROM GERMANY 

are only stumps riding about in wheel chairs. 

All that is best and worst in mankind is here 
in evidence. At one end the Swiss Red Cross 
labors day and night, nursing wounded soldiers, 
protecting war prisoners, and giving trained 
nurses from all the belligerent countries a two 
weeks' vacation in the best hotels free. At the 
other end the greedy, crafty merchants, fatten 
on wine and good food and busily haul in money 
made from war's necessities. German mer- 
chants and French merchants live side by side 
in the same hotel, talking not of the war, for- 
getting all differences, to barter and trade and 
reap from their bleeding lands. 

Poor Switzerland! It suffers indeed. It is 
gradually being squeezed. Its lands are being 
stripped. Sugar is low. There are no longer 
sugar bowls. Each person is served only with 
a portion — two lumps. Most of the bread is 
no longer white. The country is bled of its silk 
and wool. The beautiful woven sweaters of 
former days are scarce. They have all been 
shipped to France. Switzerland is no haven of 
rest. I wanted to get away as quickly as possi- 
ble. But I did not want to go back to Germany. 
My escapade in Stuttgart made it dangerous. 

243 



SHORT RATIONS 

My nerves had had all they could stand. But 
Americans are not permitted to travel from bel- 
ligerent country to belligerent country. I de- 
cided to throw myself on the mercy of the British 
Embassy and beg for a pass through France. 



244 



CHAPTER X 

A FLYING TRIP THROUGH FRANCE AND ENGLAND 

THE American embassy in Switzerland was 
adamant. " There 's no use seeing the am- 
bassador," said an important young secretary. 
" I tell you, you 've got to go back through Ger- 
many." 

" But," I protested, " there 's a denunciation 
against me in Germany. It's dangerous. If 
the British embassy gives consent, why can't I 
go to England? " 

" It does n't make any difference what the Brit- 
ish embassy says," retorted the autocratic sec- 
retary. " As soon as you reach the French fron- 
tier you '11 be arrested. If you are, we will have 
nothing to do with you. No American can travel 
from one belligerent country to another." 

I was disheartened. Life looked black, but 
I was not going to give in. I went to the post- 
office and collected my mail. I found the " New 
York Tribune" credentials and a letter from Mr. 

245 



SHOKT RATIONS 

Massingham, the editor of the English " Na- 
tion," for whom I had done some writing. These 
letters forwarded to Switzerland at my request 
gave me a pro-ally appearance. I destroyed the 
" Chicago Tribune " credentials which had car- 
ried me through Germany. Then I sought the 
British embassy. There was a fine young cap- 
tain at the head of the passport department. He 
was at once deeply interested. A woman who 
had been through Germany was a curiosity. I 
explained my predicament. 

" I simply can't go home that way," I said ap- 
pealingly. " The American embassy won't help 
me, and, they say, you have n't any power ; that 
I '11 be arrested as soon as I reach France." 

This challenge brought a quick response. The 
young captain straightened up, and said reas- 
suringly, " Don't you worry, I '11 see you 
through." 

My heart grew light. Soon the captain and 
I were chatting gaily. I found he had an Ameri- 
can wife. We discovered mutual friends in 
England and America. He was able to place me 
from babyhood. " I should like awfully," he 
said, "to talk about Germany. Couldn't you 
dine with me? " 

246 



THROUGH FRANCE AND ENGLAND 

I was about to accept when I remembered the 
German spies. I explained the situation. 
" Spies follow me everywhere, and if I have 
to go back to Germany and I 've been seen dining 
with the British embassy, what do you think 
would happen to me? " 

He laughingly agreed it wouldn't do. But 
after a few minutes he returned to the dinner 
invitation. " Suppose," he said, " you dine with 
me and we elude the spies. I '11 take a taxi and 
be on a given street corner at a given hour, and 
you come along and take the taxi." 

The humor of the situation appealed to me, 
and I agreed. That night at seven I slipped 
quietly out of my hotel and down a deserted 
street. On the street corner stood a taxi. I 
opened the door and popped in. It was the 
right one. We had a great laugh. We felt we 
were acting the leading roles in a new movie. 
We had a dinner at a country club and I got my 
first glimpse of the reverse side of the war. This 
young Englishman had a real point of view. 
Women and soldiers see the war straight. They 
know its cost. It 's the civilians at home that 
are bitter and relentless. 

We talked as much of prisons as of war. We 
247 



SHORT RATIONS 

tied the two together. " There are two ways of 
treating Germany," I said. " It 's the difference 
between the old prison system and the new. The 
old method of punishment does n't work. Beat a 
convict and you fill him with rage and don't re- 
form him, hut give the men behind the bars a 
square deal, be big and fair and generous, and 
you get real reformation. Personally, I wish 
the Allies had n't thrown bombs on cities. In 
Baden Baden eighty women and children were 
killed." 

The captain's brow puckered. " It was a mis- 
take," he agreed. " We ought n't to have copied 
Germany. Many of us voted against it, but the 
measure carried." 

" I think," I continued, " the radicals in Ger- 
many could be of use. Why not appeal to them? 
Drop literature instead of bombs on the trenches. 
Tell the German people what you 're after." 

« We 've thought of that," he replied, and then 

inquired, " Were you in Berlin on August ? 

Aeroplanes flew over the city that day with liter- 
ature." 

I remembered the date perfectly. I had been 
on the street all day, but I 'd seen and heard 
nothing. I said so. The captain was disap- 

248 



THROUGH FRANCE AND ENGLAND 

pointed. " I was afraid there was a hitch," he 
said. 

The captain was well posted about Germany. 
He knew of the food shortage. He watched for 
signs of collapse. One of his first questions was, 
" Is the Zoo in Berlin still open? " This Eng- 
lish officer had no thought of peace. Germany 
must first be defeated. But he was not vindic- 
tive. He did not want punishment. It was in- 
teresting to watch the captain study me. Ger- 
many searched my luggage, but he searched my 
mind. I did not try to deceive him. He saw. I 
wanted peace, but not at the expense of democ- 
racy. He trusted me. When we parted I had 
his promise of assistance. 

In three days came a note asking me to call. 
He delivered over my passport. On it was 
written this sentence : " Seen at the British Lega- 
tion at Berne, September 22nd, 1916. Miss Doty 
is personally known to me — Good for London." 

In addition I was given a letter in French for 
use in France. 

That night I took the train for Paris. Before 
leaving I destroyed all but my business letters. 
A precious note from Remain Rolland went into 
the fire. I dared not carry it. I was told a 

249 



SHORT RATIONS 

woman who traveled with his book " Above the 
Battle," was arrested as a suspect. The famous 
novelist is an exile in Switzerland. I for- 
warded him an invitation from the Woman's 
Peace Party to lecture in America. In reply he 
wrote, " My duty lies in Europe. When I speak 
it must be to France." But had he felt otherwise 
he could not have come to America. France 
would not give him a passport. 

I descended from the train at the French fron- 
tier with anxiety. 

Had the captain the power to protect me? It 
was pitch dark. Only the station platform and 
a row of soldiers were visible. We were shown 
into a big examining room. The luggage came 
first. That was quickly disposed of. My papers 
had n't yet been seen. But as I turned from 
my baggage a soldier stepped up and took my 
passport. It was covered with fat official Ger- 
man seals. He was staggered. He hurried me 
into the next room. At once I became "the 
lady from Germany." For two hours I was 
passed from official to official. Endlessly I re- 
peated the story of my life. My legal training 
was useful. I always told the same story. The 
French soldiers, like the English captain, 

250 



THROUGH FRANCE AND ENGLAND 

searched my mind. When they had finished I 
was turned over to a woman. She conducted me 
to a large closet and ordered me to undress. I 
got as far as the first layer when the woman said 
"that will do." The ordeal was over and I 
boarded my train. 

For three hours the train had patiently waited 
its passengers. I was very tired, and crept 
quickly into my berth. But in the midst of 
dreams of Paris, there came loud thumps at the 
stateroom door. In a moment it was flung open 
and in walked the French police. I sat up in 
bed and greeted my visitors sleepily. Soon they 
had me launched on another life history. The 
chief officer was suspicious. " How long," he 
said, " have you known Captain X ? When did 
you see him? " I dodged his questions and re- 
plied carelessly : " Captain X ! Oh, I know him 
well. He has an American wife. We dined to- 
gether." That settled it. Dining with the Brit- 
ish Legation gives one a standing. With profuse 
apologies the police withdrew. Again I settled 
down ; when I opened my eyes it was to hear the 
porter say, " Paris in half an hour." 

Queer little ecstasies of delight thrilled me. 

Was it because of a great great-grandfather who 

251 



SHORT RATIONS 

was French. I think not. France's magic lies 
not in ancestors but in its democracy — its un- 
derstanding — one fits. As I left the train, the 
station was packed with people. In a moment I 
was lost in the crowd. Spies were useless. The 
whole city teemed with life. It is more active 
than a year ago. More happens in five minutes 
than in a whole month in Berlin. I knew at a 
glance that Germany's days were numbered. I 
went to a little sidewalk cafe for breakfast. 
Streams of people passed. Girls on their way to 
business, crippled soldiers, rushing ambulances, 
flying taxis, delivery wagons, English officers 
with a piquant French girl clinging to an arm. 
The life was as rushing as it is at Broadway and 
Forty-second Street. After Germany, it looked 
helter-skelter and unorganized, but things got 
done. 

Paris is to Berlin, as home is to an institution. 
It has an unconventional warmth. You don't 
hear the wheels go round. Tired soldiers from 
the front poured into the station and made the 
station home. They sank down in any conven- 
ient spot. In one corner I saw a foot-sore soldier 
take off shoes and stockings and put on fresh 
ones; in another a group of soldiers sat on the 

252 



THROUGH FRANCE AND ENGLAND 

floor with their backs to the wall and eat break- 
fast from knapsacks chatting madly. I wanted 
to stay in Paris, but I 'd promised the Captain 
I would n't. He feared my German marked pass- 
port would get me in trouble with ignorant un- 
der-officials. After breakfast, I tried to get a res- 
ervation for London. It was Saturday. There 
was none to be had until Sunday. That gave me 
two days in Paris. I spent them in the shops 
and on the boulevards. Paris thrives. Every 
one is busy. There are few signs to rent. The 
shops are gay with the latest fashions. But 
much of the idealism of a year ago has vanished. 
France begins to realize she has Germany by the 
throat. The soldiers jostle one on the street. 
They walk with the air of conquerors, they grow 
brutal. And the boulevards are filled with 
women of the street. There are other signs that 
are distressing. France copies Germany. She 
grows militaristic. She refuses passports to 
men like Romain Rolland. With the loss of 
freedom goes much idealism. I began to fear for 
France. The victory of the Marne was won 
not by a relentless military system, but by ideal- 
ism. The people believed in their cause and 
fought like one man. Joan d'Arcs and Abra- 

253 



SHORT RATIONS 

ham Lincolns spring from the people. They 
emerge where there is freedom. Great lead- 
ers are needed. To close France in, suppress 
the news, appoint dictators, employ militaristic 
methods, will be fatal. The people of France 
and England prosper only under democracy. 

It is the people of these two kingdoms that 
have kept them ahead of Germany internally. 

To go from Germany to France is like going 
from a desert island to a land of plenty. The 
Allies have all the resources. They have raw 
material, workers — 70,000 Chinamen, for in- 
stance — food and munition. Each day Ger- 
many's supply of these diminishes. But as long 
as Germany has a speck of food or a man to 
fight she will have military strength. You can't 
beat Germany at her own game. You can't beat 
back over twenty miles of trenches without a 
struggle that will bankrupt the world. But 
there are other ways of winning. The methods 
of free people. The methods of the new prison 
system. Ways that seek not punishment but 
justice. Ways that, conscious of strength, offer 
justice. 

On Sunday I took the train for Havre. I was 
careful to show only the Berne vise and said I 

254 



THKOUGH FRANCE AND ENGLAND 

was going straight through. I was passed with- 
out comment. As I gazed from the car window 
I saw the country teemed with activity. Smoke 
poured from factories. At one point we came 
to a military center. Here gigantic new build- 
ings were in progress and railroad tracks were 
being laid in every direction. Thousands of cars 
stood on sidings. It looked as though France 
and England had a plant that could supply the 
world. By contrast Germany was pitiful. In 
the compartment with me was an attractive 
French girl. She had dancing eyes, and wore a 
very short skirt, and carried a gaily colored hat- 
box nearly as big as herself. All the soldiers 
were attentive. She was radiant. The lack of 
young men in Paris made life dull. She was off 
for London. I found we shared the same state- 
room on the channel steamer. As we drew into 
Havre, we heard bad news. A German subma- 
rine had been sighted and the London boat would 
not leave that night. Havre is the seat of the 
Belgium Government and is crowded with Bel- 
gian and English soldiers. The chances for ac- 
commodations were small. There were no por- 
ters and no carriages at the station. An old 
postman offered me his services. He swung me 

255 



SHORT RATIONS 

on to the high front seat of the post wagon and 
piled my bags on the wagon's roof. Then we 
tore down the street at a mad pace to the best 
hotel. It was a wild race for rooms. The little 
French girl with the aid of several cavaliers was 
ahead of me, but I came next. I secured the 
last room to be had. It cost two dollars and 
was at the top of the hotel, six flights and no 
elevator. But I was thankful for a bed. Next 
day the little French girl clung to me. She was 
pursued by invitations and I acted as chaperon. 
Two English business men invited us to lunch. 
We went to a little restaurant high up on the 
cliff. The cliff is covered with tents and wooden 
buildings. These are the Belgium military head- 
quarters. At the water's edge below the cliff lie 
the attractive houses used by the Belgium Gov- 
ernment staff. But Havre itself is unattractive. 
English Tommies lounge about the place. They 
fill the cafes and drink unduly. They have 
robbed Havre of its Parisian lightness. It has 
grown coarse and dirty. The place is under 
English control. The little French girl said the 
English were not popular here. Our English 
merchants were stodgy. They had the civilian 
view of war. They believed in corporal punish- 

256 



THROUGH FRANCE AND ENGLAND 

ment for school children, and in corporal punish- 
ment for Germany. 

We left them as soon as possible. At the 
hotel we met a couple of young English army 
officers. They were both under twenty-five. 
They were back from the front for a few days. 
They came from the wealthy and aristocratic 
class in England. They were frankly delighted 
to be with us. " We 've wondered/' they said, 
"whether we should ever again go to teas and 
dances and be just frivolous."' They invited 
us to tea. We went to the most pretentious tea- 
room in town. They kept me talking about Ger- 
many. They could n't hear enough. They grew 
very confidential. " It 's all very well," said one, 
and the other agreed, " for Lloyd George to sit 
home and talk about knockout blows and plan 
away our lives, but I tell you when we 're in the 
trenches it 's peace for us at any price, when we 
get back as far as here we think we '11 fight a 
little longer and when we get to England we talk 
the way Asquith does." 

" We 're hoping," added the other, " that the 
death of Asquith's son will do much to hasten 
the end of war." 

" There are other ways of winning besides just 
257 



SHORT RATIONS 

killing," I suggested. " You might start a revo- 
lution in Germany. If the Allies would officially 
state fair peace terms and have these translated 
into German and dropped by aeroplanes in all the 
German trenches, things would happen. The 
Germans suffer horribly. If you made the people 
realize you were n't out for conquest, they 'd quit 
fighting you and go for their own Government." 

The young officers were silent for a moment, 
then they burst out with, " That 's a great idea. 
It would mean setting the Germans to killing 
each other instead of us." 

I had to laugh, but perhaps their interpreta- 
tion was not far from the truth. " Anyway," I 
added, " it could n't do any harm to try the plan." 

These young officers were refreshing. They 
were big and strong and splendid, England's best. 
They were fighters, but they loathed war. They 
wanted justice not punishment. That night we 
boarded the channel steamer. The little French 
girl supervised my luggage while I told my life 
history to English officers. It was two hours 
and a half before I was released. The steamer 
was frightfully hot. Every porthole was fas- 
tened down. This was to prevent a ray of light 
escaping. The decks were in total darkness. 

258 



THROUGH FRANCE AND ENGLAND 

The boat crept out into black silent night. The 
stateroom was too stuffy for sleep. The little 
French girl and I spent the night on deck. There 
was n't a sound except the swish of the water as 
our dark boat dashed through the still night. I 
was more afrad of capture than bombs. What 
would the Germans do to me if our boat was 
taken and we made prisoners? 

The stewardess told me a harrowing story. 
Not long before a German woman had crossed 
on a channel steamer, she was a spy. The Eng- 
lish discovered her nationality. They faced her 
with facts. They promised if she confessed to 
send her back. She did confess. Next morning, 
she was shipped to France. England shifted the 
burden. She did not want to kill a woman. 
But she knew France would. Twenty-four hours 
later the woman was shot on French soil. In 
Germany I had spoken of Edith Cavell. I said 
it was a mistake. Many Germans agreed, but 
then they shrugged their shoulders and said the 
Allies are n't much better. I knew now why. I 
fell to wondering about myself. I suppose Mili- 
tary Junkers in both England and Germany, be- 
cause I had traveled about, might consider me a 
spy. It was not a pleasant thought. I was glad 

259 



SHORT RATIONS 

I was on my way to America. We reached 
Southampton in the early morning. Without 
breakfast and without sleep, it was hard to be 
cheerful. But I did my best with my life story. 
My passport was taken, and I was told as soon 
as I reached London to go to Scotland Yard for 
it. 

On the train in our compartment was a very 
tired Englishman and Englishwoman. He had 
been driving an ambulance at the front, she nurs- 
ing the wounded. The little French girl was 
a delight to them. She robbed life of horror. 
The Englishman's feet were very long ; they came 
dangerously near the gay hat-box. " You must 
be careful of our Paris hat," I said, smiling first 
at him and then at the attractive owner. He 
drew his feet in solicitously and said earnestly, 
" I 'd hurl myself out of the window before I 'd 
hurt that hat." Soldiers and women keep their 
balance. Suffering makes them generous. It 's 
the civilians at home that may bring havoc. 

London was quieter than a year ago. The 
gaudy enlistment posters have vanished, the bands 
no longer play. The people have settled into 
harness. At night the streets are pitchy black. 
One cannot see the curbstone, one has to be led 

260 



THROUGH FRANCE AND ENGLAND 

by an expert. Between fog and the short winter 
days, London is dreary. The streets are crowded 
and life goes on as usual, but a spirit of relent- 
less Puritanism has reawakened in the land. 
The English people do not know that German} 7 
suffers. They believe she stores up goods to 
destroy them commercially after the war. The 
English fear this and want Germany smashed. 
They believe in punishment. They still beat 
their public school boys as formerly they beat 
their convicts and their soldiers. Germany must 
be licked like a school child. This makes the 
people hard. Not all, of course. The radicals 
see the danger. They know if England succeeds 
it will react on England. She will become a 
bully and illiberal. Slowly England is divid- 
ing into two camps. Those who want to fight 
only for the freedom and reinstatement of small 
nations, and those who want in addition to smash 
the enemy. The latter class predominate in both 
England and France. The militarists get ever 
a tighter hold. While Germany is opening up 
and her people begin to talk, slowly England and 
France close in, shut out liberty, and grow re- 
lentless. 

I stayed only ten days in England. London 
261 



SHORT RATIONS 

grows uninteresting. It has few meetings, no 
street orators, and little discussion. Its social 
work ceases. It is becoming what Germany was 
a year ago. I talked little while in England. 
My pass had been given me by the military au- 
thorities and I felt I had no right to. But on 
the ocean homeward bound my thoughts run riot. 
I had seen both sides. I had no doubt about 
the outcome. Germany would eventually be 
beaten. Her resources were becoming exhausted. 
But a prolonged struggle might mean bank- 
ruptcy, spiritual and physical, for the Allies. 
Was there a way out? Again the new prison 
system rushed upon me. Treating convicts 
kindly and really reforming them, did not mean 
opening the gates and letting them run away. 
Neither did offering Germany just terms of 
peace and appealing to the best that was in her 
mean letting Prussianism overrun the world. 
Suddenly I closed my eyes and dreamed a dream. 
I saw our little grandchildren fifty years hence 
in school bending over history books and this 
is what they read. 

" In 1917 a great change in thought came over 
the earth. It revolutionized history. No other 
event since the freeing of the slaves was of such 

262 



THKOUGH FKANCE AND ENGLAND 

importance. The spirit of Social Service which 
had crept into people permeated the nations and 
guided their action. And in the spiritual regen- 
eration America led the way. From her came 
the doctrine : ' We must fight for justice but 
never to conquer or punish. " Let him who is 
without sin among you cast the first stone." 
We are not our brother's keeper but our brother's 
helper. Our own hands have not always been 
clean. We have fattened on the Great War. 
We wish to make reparation. We ask to be al- 
lowed to aid with the war indemnities. We wish 
to contribute a billion dollars to the reestablish- 
ment of Belgium.' 

" It was this spirit in America," continued the 
history, " that changed the whole trend of events. 
When peace negotiations came, there was not, as 
formerly, secret diplomatic juggling to see which 
nation could grab the most. Peace terms were 
stated openly. 

" The reestablishment of small nations was in- 
sisted on, and in cases of dispute a plebiscite 
vote decided the nationality of the disputed ter- 
ritory. An endeavor was made to give to the ut- 
termost, instead of take to the uttermost. 

" So the foundations of the permanent peace 
263 



SHORT RATIONS 

we enjoy to-day were laid. To our grandfathers 
belong the glory of establishing the rule, ' What 
can I give, not what can I grab.' " 

Was it a dream? I woke with a start. I was 
lying in a steamer chair and we were drawing 
into New York harbor. 

Already I felt the breath of the great city in 
my nostrils. Whatever decisions were made it 
would be the voice of the American people. 
They were free to speak. America! What do 
you say? 



264 



DIE MUTTER 

'HILE in Geneva I visited the Red Cross 
authorities. This is the Central Bureau 
for relief work. It gives aid to the wounded 
and prisoners of all the belligerent countries. 
Many horrible, tragic and beautiful stories pass 
through the committee's hands. 

After the war these stories will come to light. 
At present the rigid censorship prevents pub- 
lication, for it is impossible to carry printed or 
written material across frontiers. 

But one story told me needed no notes. It be- 
came engraven in my memory. It is the story 
of an English boy and a German mother. 

I could not secure the letters that passed be- 
tween these two but their contents, and the other 
facts given are here set forth accurately. This 
is a true story. 

The sky was a soft, shining blue. The air 
was still. The warmth of summer brooded over 
the land. But no bird's song broke the still- 

265 



SHORT RATIONS 

ness. No bees flutttered over flowers. The 
earth lay torn and bare. In deep brown furrows 
of the earth, hundreds of restless men lay or 
knelt or stood. 

The land was vibrant with living silence. But 
now and again a gigantic smashing roar broke 
the tense stillness. Then in some spots, the 
ground spit forth masses of dirt, a soldier's hel- 
met, a tattered rag of uniform, and bits of a 
human body. 

It was after such a mighty blast that a great 
winged object came speeding from the north. It 
skimmed low over the trenches and dipped, and 
circled and paused above the English line. Like 
a great eagle it seemed about to rush to earth, 
snatch its prey, and then be off. But as it hung 
suspended, another whirring monster flew swiftly 
from the south. It winged its way above its 
rival, then turning, plunged downward. The 
great cannons grew silent. The eyes of the pig- 
mies in the trenches gazed skyward. A breath- 
less tenseness gripped the earth. Only sun and 
sky shone on with no whisper of the mad fight 
of these two winged things. 

For a few wild moments they rushed at one 
another. Then the whirring bird with wings of 

266 



DIE MUTTER 

white rose high, turned back, and plunged again 
upon that other whose wings had huge, black 
crosses. 

It missed its prey, but there came a cracking 
sound. A puff of smoke, like a hot breath, burst 
from the creature of the iron crosses. It shud- 
dered, dropped, turned, and fell head down. 
With sweeping curves the pursuer also came to 
earth. A lean, young Englishman sprang from 
the whirring engine. His body quivered with 
excitement. He sped with running feet to the 
broken object lying on the ground. He knelt by 
the twisted mass. Beneath the splintered wood 
and iron he saw a boyish figure. It was still 
and motionless. He gently pulled the body out. 
A fair young German lay before him. A deep 
gash in the head showed where a blow had 
brought instant death. The body was straight 
and supple, the features clear cut and clean. 
A boy's face with frank and fearless brow looked 
up at the young Englishman. The eyes held no 
malice. They were full of shocked surprise. 
The brown haired lad felt the lifeless heart. A 
piece of cardboard met his fingers. He pulled 
it from the coat pocket. It was a picture — a 
picture of a woman — a woman with gray hair 

267 



SHORT RATIONS 

and kindly eyes, — a mother whose face bore lines 
of patient suffering. Scrawled beneath the por- 
trait in boyish hand were the words, " Meine 
Mutter." 

A sob choked the young Englishman. Ten- 
derly he gathered the lifeless form in his strong 
arms. Then he rose and walked unheeding 
across the open field of battle. But no angry 
bullet pelted after those young figures. The men 
in the trenches saw and understood. Behind 
the lines the boy lay his burden down. Taking 
paper and pencil from his pocket and placing 
the little picture before him, he began to write. 

When he had finished he placed the letter and 
portrait in a carefully directed envelope. Then 
walking hurriedly to his machine he prepared 
for flight. Soon he was whirring low over the 
enemy trenches. Leaning out, he dropped his 
missile. The cannons roared, but no rifle was 
turned on that bright figure. Instinctively, men 
knew his deed was one of mercy. As the little 
paper fluttered downward it was picked up by 
eager soldier hands. A little cheer broke from 
a hundred throats. Willing messengers passed 
it to the rear. Speedily it went on its way. 

Twenty-four hours later a mother with pale 
268 




Aus tlcn lilliograpliisclieu Kiimtlerflugblattern „Kricyszcit" Mo. 10 

Die Mutter 1914-1916 



/c^A 



C^^^t^^- 



_jk<t:":<i i LLfaOH, 'j M,0 : I)»KI F.l, 



This Picture Was Made by a Woman to Personify the Suffering 
Motherhood of Germany 



DIE MUTTER 

face and trembling hands fingered the white 
scrap of paper. Her unseeing eyes gazed out 
on a smiling landscape. Between green meadows 
in the warm summer sunshine lay the glittering 
Ehine. But she saw nothing. Her baby boy 
was dead. Memories of him flooded her. She 
felt again the warmth of the baby body as it 
clung to her's and the pull of the tiny hands at 
her breast. She saw him as a boy, his eager 
restlessness. She heard his running steps at the 
door and his cry of " mother." It was over. 
That bright spirit was still. The third and last 
son had been exacted. Her fingers touched the 
letter in her lap. Her eyes fell on the penciled 
words. Slowly they took meaning. This boy 
who wrote : He 'd seen the beauty of her son. 
He 'd lifted the dear body in his arms. His 
heart was torn by anguish. What was it he said : 

" ' It ? s your son. I know you can't forgive me 
for I killed him. But I want you to know he 
did n't suffer. The end came quickly. He was 
very brave. He must also have been very good. 
He had your picture in his pocket. I am send- 
ing it back, though I should like to keep it. I 
suppose I am his enemy, yet, I don't feel so at 

271 



SHORT RATIONS 

all. I 'd give my life to have Mm back. I did n't 
think of him or you when I shot at his machine. 
He was an enemy spying out our men. I 
couldn't let him get back to tell his news. It 
meant death to our men. It was a plucky deed. 
We were covered up with brush. He had to come 
quite low to see us and he came bravely. He 
nearly escaped me. He handled his machine 
magnificently. I thought how I should like to 
fly with him. But he was the enemy and had to 
be destroyed. I fired. It was over in a second. 
Just a blow on the head as the machine crashed 
to earth. His face shows no suffering, only ex- 
citement. His eyes are bright and fearless. I 
know you must have loved him. My mother died 
when I was quite a little boy. But I know what 
she would have felt if I had been killed. War 
is n't fair to women. God ! how I wish it were 
over. It is a nightmare. I feel if I just touched 
your boy, he 'd wake and we 'd be friends. I 
know his body must be dear to you. I will take 
care of it and mark his grave with a little cross. 
After the war you may want to take him home. 
" For the first time, I 'm almost glad my 
mother is n't living. She could not have borne 
what I have done. My own heart is heavy. I 

272 



DIE MUTTER 

felt it was my duty. Yet now when I see your 
son lifeless before me and hold your picture in 
my hand, it all seems wrong. The world is dark. 
O Mother, be my mother just a little too, and 
tell me what to do. — Hugh.' " 

Slowly great tears rolled down the woman's 
cheeks. What was this monster that was smash- 
ing men? Her boy and this other, they were 
the same. No hate was in their hearts. They 
suffered — the whole world suffered. Her coun- 
try went in hunger. The babies in the near-by 
cottages grew weak for want of milk. She 
must n't tell that to the English lad. His heart 
would break. Why must such suffering be? 
Was she to blame? There was the English lad 
without a mother. She had not thought of him 
and others like him. Her home, her sons, her 
Fatherland, these had been sufficient. But each 
life hangs on every other. Motherhood is univer- 
sal. 

Suddenly she knew what to write. What she 
must say to that grief-stricken English boy. 
Quickly her hand penned the words : 

" Dear Lad : There is nothing to forgive. I 
see you as you are — your troubled goodness. I 

273 



SHOKT RATIONS 

feel you coming to me like a little boy astounded 
at having done ill when you meant well. You 
seem my son. I am glad your hands cared for 
my other boy. I had rather you than any other 
touched his earthly body. He was my youngest. 
I think you saw his fineness. I know the torture 
of your heart since you have slain him. To 
women brotherhood is a reality. For all men 
are our sons. That makes war a monster that 
brother must slay brother. Yet perhaps women 
more than men have been to blame for this world 
war. We did not think of the world's children, 
our children. The baby hands that clutched our 
breast were so sweet, we forgot the hundred other 
baby hands stretched out to us. But the Earth 
does not forget, she mothers all. And now my 
heart aches with repentance. I long to take you 
in my arms and lay your head upon my breast to 
make you feel through me your kinship with all 
the earth. Help me, my son, I need you. Be 
your vision, my vision. Spread the dream of 
oneness and love throughout the land. When 
the war is over come to me. I am waiting for 
you. — Deine Mutter." 



274 



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